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The 


Down East Master’s 
First School 



EDWARD ArRXND 

Author of “ Bark Cabin on Kearsarge,” “ Tent in the Notch,” 

“School and Camp Series,” After the Freshet,” Etc. f 



BOSTON 

D. LOTHROP COMPANY 

WASHINGTON STREET OPPOSITE BROMFIELD 




Copyright, 1892, 

BY 

D. Lothrop Company, 


% 




PREFACE. 


A fragment of this story has appeared in that 
well-known paper, The Journal of Education , Boston. 
Much enlarged, the story is now given in book form. 
It was prepared with a purpose, and was designed to 
furnish helpful hints to the teachers just beginning 
work. Of course, the author could not have written 
this story if he had not himself, when young, taught 
in a beautiful village of picturesque Maine — a village 
of much intelligence and culture, and it is fair to say 
employing no one like “ Miles Baker ” as its school 
agent. This book, as already declared, written with 
a purpose, is sent out in profound sympathy with 
those who one day wake up to the fact that they 
are no longer scholars, but nervously stand on the 
threshold of the great teaching-world, rows of eager 
boys and girls looking up sharply at “ the teacher ” 
just beginning to “keep school.” Do I sympathize 
with them in their fears ? I desire also to congratulate 
them on their great opportunity. 


% 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER I. 

ON HIS WAY 7 

CHAPTER II. 

HIS ARRIVAL 24 

CHAPTER III. 

THE VILLAGE AND ITS INHABITANTS . . 38 

CHAPTER IY. 

THE OPINION OF WILL GAINES ... 55 

CHAPTER V. 

THE FIRST MORNING 66 

CHAPTER YI. 

A GOOD PROSPECT FOR A BAD FIGHT . . 76 

CHAPTER VII. 


STRATEGY 


84 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A COSEY CHAT .... 

CHAPTER IX. 

HELP FOR SLAVE BEN 

CHAPTER X. 

THE CAMP IN THE WOODS 

CHAPTER XI. 

VITALITY AS A STUDY 

CHAPTER XII. 

AT THE JUDGE’S .... 

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE SPELLING SCHOOL 

CHAPTER XIV. 

THE CONTEST BEGINS 

CHAPTER XV. 

THE CONTEST GOES ON . 

CHAPTER XVI. 

SLAVE BEN’S BENEFIT 

CHAPTER XVII. 

ANOTHER MYSTERY .... 


91 

105 

117 

133 

154 

169 

178 

187 

198 

211 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

SMOKE ...... 

CHAPTER XIX. 

CONFESSION 

CHAPTER XX. 

THE DEBATE ..... 

CHAPTER XXI. 

RUN AWAY 

CHAPTER XXII. 

THAT LITERATURE CLASS 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE WONDERFUL COMING 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

SHOULD HE TRUST HIM ? 

CHAPTER XXV. 

A HOLE IN THE ICE 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

A RACE ...... 

CHAPTER XXVII. 


216 

235 

247 

271 

279 

296 

310 

330 

349 


THE LAST DAY 


384 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER XXVIIT. 

LEAYETAKING 392 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

BACK TO PRIVATE LIFE ..... 404 

CHAPTER XXX. 

ON THE ROAD TO GETTYSBURG . . . 410 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

GETTING READY FOR THE BATTLE . . . 436 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE GRAND CONFEDERATE CHARGE . . 441 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

WOULD SHE GO ? 458 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

IN THE HOSPITAL 468 


THE DOWN EAST MASTER’S 
FIRST SCHOOL 


CHAPTER I. 

ON HIS WAY. 

S UCH a blinding, whirling mass of snowflakes! 

Out of it all came a voice : “ Keep to the 
left, did yon say ? ” 

Another voice, on the level of the stage-driver’s 
seat, replied to the first. The answer was so mixed 
with the roar of the wind bellowing across an open, 
lonely country road that the babel could not be re- 
solved into any sound distinctively human, still 
less into anything intelligible. 

“ Bah ! Can’t understand that driver more than 
if he were a Hottentot,” muttered the inquirer 
down in the road. “ Let me get on the other side 
of the stage.” 

As he shifted his location, the wind caught up 
and whirled over his head the folds of a thick 


7 


8 


ON HIS WAY. 


drab shawl, once such a popular feature of a 
gentleman’s dress. 

“ Now, if you please,” said the young man on 
the sheltered side of the stage, “what did you 
say — keep to the left, do I ? ” 

“ Left? Stars and garters, no ! ” cried the sandy- 
whiskered driver, Levi Green. “ Take the left, 
bless you, and you’ll git up on the mountain 
where it is cold as blazes, and nary a house ’round. 
Why, I’ve be’n on that ere mountain ” — 

“ But which road do I take ? ” said the young 
man impatiently. “ Right, I suppose, then ? ” 

“ Sartin ! you’re right ef you take the right, and 
all wrong ef you don’t. You see I go right ahead, 
takin’ this ere middle road. It goes ” — 

“ Thank you,” said the young man, once more 
interrupting the driver’s loquacity. “ How far do 
I go on that right-hand road before I come to the 
place that I want to reach ? ” 

“ You want to know how far it is ? It may be 
one, and it may be two miles.” 

“ How so ? ” 

“Wall, ef one has short legs arid ain’t used to 
walkin’, he’ll find it a two-mile jog. But yourn 
are of pretty good length, and ” — 

“ Nonsense ! ” exclaimed the young man, laugh- 
ing in spite of his impatience, his full, mellow, 
resonant voice pleasantly contrasting with the 
driver’s worn, thin nasal tones. “ How far is it 
for most people, driver ? ” 


ON HIS WAY. 


9 


“ Oh ! gen’ally, you mean ? ’Bout a mile and a 
half. Sorry I can’t take you, but I must go this 
way, Thursdays, and you know ” — 

“ Oh ! it is all right, thank you. Good-day ! ” 

“ Good luck to ye ; git up, thar ! ” This last 
clause was a direction issued not to the young 
man, but to the driver’s horses, that took the road 
stretching directly ahead. The young man turned 
to the right. 

“ I wonder what under the sun and moon he’s 
a-goin’ to do ? ” queried Levi, twisting his neck 
and throwing another look at the solitary figure 
whose shoulders were so closely enveloped in that 
drab shawl. “ He didn’t seem inclined to let on 
’bout himself.” 

The stranger had been repeatedly pumped as to 
his business at “ the river village,” his asserted 
place of destination. 

The stage-driver had an extensive pump-appa- 
ratus. If one device would not avail for the ac- 
cumulation of a supply of news, he would try an- 
other. Applying the store-pump in this case, after 
several gentle hints about possible business, he had 
boldly and powerfully worked the pump-handle, 
inquiring, “ Be you goin’ into a store ? ” This 
stroke fetched no water. Then Levi took his 
visiting-pump, his doctor-pump, his law-pump, but 
none of these would discharge any stream of in- 
formation into Levi’s greedy reservoir. The stage- 
driver could not possibly learn whether the young 


10 


ON HIS WAY. 


man had come 44 a-visitin’,” or to study medicine 
with Dr. Brown, or read law with Squire Jones. 

44 Beats the Dutch ! I’m off the track entirely,” 
soliloquized Levi as his bony old nags jogged lazily 
along amid the whirling snowflakes. 44 Howsum- 
tever, I know, yes — I know,” and he pounded 
heavily his knee with his unoccupied hand — 44 that 
it is suthin’ out of the common run. I can tell 
’em all like a book, gin’ally. I haven’t driven 
stage twenty years fur nuthin’, now I tell ye ! ” 

Here he nodded complacently to an old pine 
that, in the wind, nodded to him. 

44 Yes ; I know ’em like a book, and this chap’s 
up to snuff. Yes, sir-r-r ! ” he told the pine. 

At first it comforted him to think he could re- 
port this amount of news, at least, to the post- 
mistress at the 44 mill-village.” Thursdays he 
omitted to call at the river village, the destination 
of this stranger 44 up to snuff,” and he went to the 
mill-village. A rival stage-line much detested by 
Levi went to the river village. He had wanted, 
this night of the storm, to take to the mill-village 
postmistress a bit of fresh news in addition to the 
leathery old mail bag. 

“Wall,” he murmured, 44 1 can say I had one 
passenger, and I put him off at the four corners, 
and he was a nice-lookin’ chap, and I thought he 
was up to snuff. That will make out suthin’ of a 
myst’ry, and ’twill set Miss Spearin’ to guessin’ 
’bout it.” 


ON HIS WAY. 


11 


Levi’s piece of news grew in size very sensibly 
as he rode to the little post-office, and his story 
about the mysterious passenger stirred Miss Spear- 
ing profoundly. 

Utterly unconscious of any use to which Levi 
was putting him in that dusky, close little post- 
office, the stranger hurried forward. There was 
not so very much clear daylight left, but much 
stormy wind — many drifts of snow. 

“ Something of a walk before me,” he murmured. 
“ I am good for it, though.” 

The snow gave a rim of soft, pure ermine to his 
low-crowned, broad-brimmed felt hat, fantastically 
fringed the folds of his drab shawl, and filled with 
softest, whitest down the creases of his traveling 
bag. 

The young man’s luxuriant brown hair fell long 
and flowing, after an old student fashion. The 
storm tried to change this into the white thatch- 
ing of old age. It could not make him an old 
man, though. A clear, fresh complexion, to which 
the friction of the wind had given a ruddy glow, a 
skin smooth and unwrinkled as a ruddy Baldwin 
in November, outlines of the face, soft and rounded, 
a contour of curves and not of angles — all pro- 
claimed an unmistakable youth. Those rounded 
outlines told of youth, however, not of any irreso- 
luteness of character. The curve of the mouth 
firm and not wavering, the build of the chin, 
showed that their owner was not lacking in de- 


12 


ON HIS WAY. 


cision. He had, too, a look of sharp intelligence, 
of ready insight, as if he were one to apprehend 
quickly and hold clearly. His face always inter- 
ested people and attracted them. Sometimes they 
called him “ handsome.’’ When the adjective was 
applied, it was a greater compliment to him than 
■ simple beauty of exterior. It was the spirit coming 
out and making the form that held it luminous 
and noble with a higher and spiritual beauty. He 
had in his keeping a gift which is a compensa- 
tion for external beauty ; outranks and outlasts 
it. This in part was a vivacity of temperament 
lighting up his bright blue eyes with magnetic 
flashes. The remainder was himself, his character, 
and with this we shall become acquainted. He 
and all like him having this higher gift of the 
spirit, share in a king’s inheritance. When form 
ceases to charm because it has lost its grace, when 
the complexion no longer is a garden where alter- 
nately bloom the lily and the rose, when in 
wrinkles and crow’s feet Time sets his inevitable 
autograph of ownership on the features, then it is 
that the spirit, if truly regal, asserts its supremacy. 
Through its cheeriness, its sunniness, its vigor of 
hope, the luster of its thought, its loyalty to prin- 
ciple, it has a right — the royal right — to reign, 
and shows how far above all the attractive combi- 
nations of mere matter is its throne. However, 
Paul Endicott, aged eighteen, a Sophomore in 
Bowdoin College, and now on his way to keep his 


ON HIS WAY. 


13 


first school at the river village, was not contrasting 
in his thoughts youth and old age, or grace of 
form and beauty of spirit, and so asserting the 
inferiority of matter to soul. He was only think- 
ing of his wintry journey on foot. 

He soon halted at an opening in the green wall 
of the spruce-trees by the side of the road, and 
looked off on a frozen river. 

“ That is the river, I suppose, leading to the 
village,” he exclaimed. 44 Hark ! What is that? ” 

Not far from Paul, at the foot of a bank sloping 
down from the roadside, wound the so-called river- 
road made by winter travelers over the ice. Paul 
could make out indistinctly a horse and sleigh. 
The patiently plodding creature was leisurely jing- 
ling the bells whose soft, clear, musical monotone 
Paul had caught. Under that great white dome 
of flakes, a dome ever dropping and yet ever sus- 
pended in the wintry air, slowly moved the solitary 
team. 

“ Let me see,” murmured Paul. 44 Wonder if I 
can make out how many are in the sleigh ! And 
is it a black horse ? I am losing him altogether, 
though.” 

The flakes appeared to move faster than the 
horse, and they came down in a sudden white 
flurry, as if to overtake and smother and bury 
deep this lonely team. 

44 Why, is that sleigh turning off from the river 
and coming toward my road?” wondered Paul. 


14 


ON HIS WAY. 


“I would like to see who are in it! Nonsense! 
What do I care about that sleigh? I had better 
be hurrying on, or the snowflakes and the night 
will swallow me up. The sleigh has gone, but 
there are the bells.” 

The sweet, silvery jingle stirred with a strange, 
romantic interest his emotional, music-loving na- 
ture. This interest was deepened very suddenly 
when, five minutes later, he turned a gusty bend 
in the road. There was an abrupt clash of bells 
by a horse halting just outside the traveled path, 
as if the creature would shake himself free of his 
harness ; and yet fortunately he was not trying to 
get away, for behind him was an upset sleigh. 

“ Why, there is trouble,” thought Paul, spring- 
ing forward. “ Wonder if it is the team I saw 
down on the ice ! ” 

When Paul reached the unlucky vehicle, he saw 
a young lady on the other side, out in the deep 
snow. She was bending over an object down in 
the drifts. 

He noticed the expression on her face, and was 
touched by it. He did not understand it then, but 
recalling it in days when he knew all the circum- ' 
stances of the case, he could interpret the language 
of that look. He could trace in it a mingling of 
contradictory emotions ; of exceeding pity, and yet 
disgust, of defiance of all the world, and yet an 
appeal for help, of surprise and perplexity at 
Paul’s appearance, and yet of glad welcome. 


ON HIS WAY. 


15 


Paul did not wait to be repelled or to be wel- 
comed. He had a nature that went over in a very 
demonstrative way to the side of everything weak ; 
of a worm that somebody was about to tread on, 
and of the man down in these cold, wintry drifts. 
Paul had also a strength not suspected in one of 
his style of build ; for, while very symmetrical,' he 
did not look very muscular. He stooped down to 
the man, thrust his arms beneath him, and said 
soothingly, “ Come, let me help you. There ! just 
let me lift you out of the way of the sleigh.” 

Lifting the man aside, he righted the sleigh. 
Stooping once more, he raised the man and de- 
posited him on the sleigh seat. He noticed the 
stranger’s profile ; that it had the classic regular- 
ity of an old-time Attic. Whether the man were 
twenty or twice twenty, Paul could not determine. 
He saw that the Attic’s hair was black, the com- 
plexion flushed, the eyes closed. 

“ Ha-ha ! ” thought Paul, “ I know what the 
matter is with you. You have just made a fool of 
yourself drinking, and are sleeping it off.” 

The young lady had now stepped into the 
sleigh. 

“ Oh ! thank you,” she exclaimed, with much 
agitation of manner. “ I thank you — so much.” 

“ Here are the reins, Miss ; entirely welcome ! ” 

She received the reins which Paul had straight- 
ened out and now courteously handed to her, and 
she then started up the horse. 


16 


ON HIS WAY. 


“Allow me to see you started off safely,” 
petitioned Paul. 

“ Oh ! — oh ! — it is all right. I can — can get 
along. We go in here but a short distance. I am 
taking your time ; thank you.” 

With her right hand she motioned toward a side 
roa*d turning off into the woods. 

“ Oh ! I have time. I only go to the river 
village.” 

“I — I thank you ; but really it is not necessary. 
Get up, there ! ” 

“ She has made up her mind to go alone,” 
thought Paul, “ and I suppose I must let her. 
This drunken fool is no companion for her, 
though.” 

The team moved off, but the girl turned, and 
out of her clear, brilliant eyes shot toward Paul, 
across her senseless companion’s shoulder, a look 
of intense gratitude. People are said to “ look 
grateful.” This expression was one all afire with 
emotion, and the effect was like that of a clear 
sun ray darting through a diamond. It was a 
single look, and momentary. Paul was impressed 
by it as if it had lasted an hour. 

He was all the more ready to say to himself : “ I 
really think I had better follow her and see if she 
will not need help. The roads are bad, and she 
may be upset again. She says she lives only a 
short distance from here, and I can come back soon 
and go on to the river village.” 


ON HIS WAY. 


17 


“ Thank you,” she called out again, looking a 
second time at the master-elect, her bright, grate- 
ful eyes darting out an arrow that excited his 
susceptible heart into a violent flutter. Paul 
touched his hat and bowed silently in return. 

“No use to argue with a woman,” he assured 
himself. “I’ll follow the sleigh just the same. 
That drunken booby may pitch out.” 

Wishing the booby were out and in a safe place, 
and he himself were in the sleigh, he allowed it to 
get ahead of him and disappear in the side road. 
Then Paul moved. Turning off into the woods, 
whose prim, stalwart trunks were drawn up like 
soldiers on either side of this by-road receiving the 
sleigh, he made his way over the snow as rapidly 
as he could. As the road was badly drifted, the 
horse did not make any faster progress than our 
knight-errant in the forest. He feared several 
times that the sleigh might go over, but it kept 
upright, and finally halted before a farmhouse. 
In some of the lower windows early lights were 
flashing. The young lady alighted from the sleigh, 
went into the house, but quickly reappeared, fol- 
lowed by a man who picked up the comatose object 
in the sleigh somewhat as he would have handled 
a stout bag of meal, and then bore his bundle into 
the house. The young lady slowly followed, as if 
reluctantly, first facing a cluster of pines, amid 
which Sir Knight Endicott was secreted. He chose 

to regard this movement as intentional and com- 
es 


18 


ON HIS WAY. 


plimentary ; but if she had once suspected who 
was there, she would not have thrown a single 
glance that way, but like a frightened hind would 
have fled into the farmhouse. The horse leisurely, 
wearily walked toward an adjacent barn, now and 
then faintly striking his bells. 

“ All over ! ” said our knight. “ Now I must go 
back.” 

He soon was in the highway, and once more 
followed it. Between him and a pair of deep, 
lustrous, searching eyes, whose owner had gone be- 
hind the farmhouse door, rose a thick, blinding 
wall of trees, flakes and shadows. Still, he con- 
tinued to see those eyes that continued to see and 
search him. Before him was the overturned sleigh. 
At its side was that spilled, disgraced, helpless 
humanity in the drifts. 

“ Wouldn’t Will Gaines be interested if he knew 
of this ? ” thought Paul. 

Will Gaines was Paul Endicott’s college chum. 
Will had taught school at the river village the 
previous winter, and through his recommendation 
Paul had been hired by one Miles Baker, agent of 
the school district. The “ agent ” was a separate 
being from the “ committee.” The agent attended 
to the temporalities of the school ; hiring and pay- 
ing the teacher, buying the wood for the school- 
house, engaging somebody to mend any broken 
lights or set up any tumbled-down funnel ; or he 
might himself do the mending and the setting up, 


ON HIS WAY. 


19 


and it is not likely he ever forgot to reward him- 
self for the job. The committee examined the 
teacher whom the agent wished to engage, granted 
him a certificate to teach if he could run the 
gauntlet of their slender question-list, and then 
inspected the school at its opening and close. In 
this way there was a superintending of the intel- 
lectualities of the institution as distinct from its 
temporalities. Any cases of discipline that the 
teacher might wish to refer to a higher authority, 
would come before the committee. While the 
committee were a board of appeal for adjudicating 
upon the teacher’s cases of discipline, they ad- 
judicated upon and disciplined him if necessary. 
Resting on these two wheels, agent and committee, 
the schools of the town had made the run of 
many seasons, the teacher each time supplying the 
motive power. Many youthful passengers had 
enjoyed a ride in these vehicles of learning, and 
each time had been left a little farther along in 
the educational road. Paul’s schoolhouse was on 
the northern bank of the river. It was an humble 
adjunct of an old-time village, that seemed to a 
stranger to have fallen asleep under the big, over- 
arching elms. Asleep! To an inhabitant of the 
village it was as restless with its ambitions, all 
a-flutter with its hopes and fears, its daily items, 
and the small talk discussing them, as any nest up 
in the same branching elm-world was wont to be 
astir with its young, twittering life in July. On 


20 


ON HIS WAY. 


the southern side of the river was another village, 
not so quiet as the first, rather homely, and this 
had its schoolhouse. 

Sir Knight Endicott’s thoughts, however, were 
not at all on this subject of schools and school- 
keeping. He was recalling the old story of the 
rescue of Alcestis by Hercules, thereby showing 
his familiarity with classical studies. 

He saw Alcestis in the lower world. It was a 
shadowy world like that in which Paul walked, the 
gloomy twilight deepening everywhere. He saw 
again and for the hundredth time, Alcestis’ beau- 
tiful face, and for the hundredth time her shining, 
grateful eyes stirred him. 

I like Alcestis’ eyes,” he murmured. He 
heard the wind roaring through an adjacent forest, 
and it became the dismal, prolonged *baying of a 
Hadean monster threatening the detention of Al- 
cestis. And then he saw Hercules advancing with 
his sturdy club. As Paul continued to look, 
Alcestis changed to that young lady in danger 
from the Hadean monster, Drink, which had at- 
tacked her companion (a father, probably), and 
through the parent would destroy her happiness. 
Hercules, the brave, heroic assailant of evil, be- 
came Paul the student. The club of Hercules 
was Paul’s walking-stick. No ; he had thrown it 
away when he met the sleigh. But there was 
Paul’s traveling bag. That might serve as Her- 
cules’ shield, granting that he had one. Certainly 


ON HIS WAY. 


21 


no monster’s claws could easily have worked their 
way through its thick stuffing of shirts and stock- 
ings, handkerchiefs and collars. Traveling bag? 
Paul stopped. Where was this shield so lately 
thought fit for Hercules ? 

44 Oh ! what a fool,” he exclaimed. 44 There, I 
know ! I left it back in the snow where that sleigh 
was upset. I believe I am losing my senses.” 

The modern Hercules, nervous and crest-fallen, 
turned back to find his shield. 

44 It is just about dark, and soon I can’t see a 
thing,” he murmured. 44 So much for tom-fooling 
round. This wind, too, is cutting. I am glad 
Will Gaines and the other fellows on my fhjor 
can’t see me. However, I will have it soon.” 

When he reached the spot where the sleigh had 
been upset, very scanty was the light still in the 
sky. The snow also was obliterating the dent in 
the drifts, and had it covered that shield ? It could 
not be found anywhere. 

Hercules exercised his famous muscles in turn- 
ing up the snow, kicking vigorously to right and 
left, but not kicking amiably. He then searched 
the snow with his hands, chilling them. 

44 No bag here, and it is getting so dark ! What 
next?” he said. He was not lacking in will, and 
once beginning a course, he w T as resolute to follow 
it as far as possible. 

44 1 might go up that other old road,” he reasoned, 
44 though I don’t believe the thing is there.” 


22 


ON HIS WAY. 


He plowed through the snow under the sway- 
ing, roaring pines, kicking as he went, but he did 
not strike that much-desired and much-padded 
shield. He saw again the lighted farmhouse win- 
dows now shining vividly, and if Alcestis could 
have seen the face of Hercules, she would have 
been the pitying one. He turned back, searched 
once more in the neighborhood of the overturned 
sleigh, but found nothing. 

“ Somebody must have picked it up,” he said. 
“ W ell, I will advertise it at the post-office or 
tavern, if they have such conveniences in that 
stupid old village. Now I will go where I ought 
to^have arrived a long time ago. This affair does 
not grow any more interesting.” 

If the late incident of righting a young lady’s 
upset sleigh had colored with romantic sentiment 
a collegian’s thoughts, the loss of his traveling bag 
blurred, and then effaced all the bright tints of the 
picture. This present Hercules had no battle more 
serious to fight than to breast and conquer the 
flakes of a winter storm. He did think of Alcestis, 
but she was a maiden in a prosy farmhouse, her 
sleeves rolled up, and she was washing dishes after 
a supper at early candle-light. 

“Wish I had some of her supper,” said this 
hungry, and now unsentimental rescuer of young 
maidens and their drunken fathers. “ Where is 
that river village ? When I see that stage-driver 
with a tongue long as your arm, I will tell him I 


ON HIS WAY. 


23 


found the distance was twenty miles, and I will 
threaten to ” — 

But Paul had an abounding good nature. He 
did not finish his threat, even in thought. He only 
laughed. It was pleasant to hear his echoing 
voice that chilling winter night. 


CHAPTER II. 


HIS ARRIVAL. 


AUL ENDICOTT had not anticipated this 



-L humble, on-foot method of approaching the 
scene of his labors. His old college friend and 
predecessor at the north river village school, Will 
Gaines, told Paul that the agent of the school dis- 
trict had met him at the railroad station and 
triumphantly, in his own team, conveyed Will 
to the village. Paul therefore at that point where 
the railroad left off and four-footed travel began, 
hoped to find an official of the town in waiting 
for him. He was disappointed. The only being 
anxious to see him was Levi Green, ready neither 
to give him a free ride nor one that went all 
the wintry way to the river village. Instead, 
Levi dropped him at the “ four corners,” and 
charged him a good round price for it. Paul by 
sore experience, as he trudged through the drifts, 
was finding out that -schoolmasters are only mor- 
tals, and must accept the checkered course of 


24 


HIS ARRIVAL. 


25 


mortals. You may ride to-day, and to-morrow 
may go a-foot. Be a philosopher, and not feel 
unduly jubilant over your ride, or depressed by 
reason of your walk. Paul had recovered from 
any momentary depression and pushed ahead 
steadily, hopefully. 

He had heard that the first village reached would 
be that on the south side of the river. 

“ Then,” he soliloquized, “ I cross a bridge, and 
then — I’ve got there. These lights must be on 
the south side. Quite a number, I see.” 

He had sometimes imagined he was a snow 
plow. Forgetting that he ever was a Hercules, 
dwarfing down into the humble plow-man, he 
pushed through this village whose twinkling lights 
cheered him. They multiplied as if to greet an 
esteemed guest. Could it be an ovation to the 
schoolmaster elect ? 

Guided by the directions of a boy found in the 
street, Paul turned down into a hollow toward a 
low lump of shadow which he presumed to be a 
toll-house guarding a bridge somewhere beyond. 
One feebly burning lantern suspended from some- 
thing overhead, scarcely told where the toll-house 
left off and the bridge began. The toll-keeper 
though, suddenly appearing, announced where he 
began and he called for the toll. 

“ Two,” he said commanding!}^. 

Paying his toll of two cents, Paul stepped upon 
an echoing floor of plank swept bare of snow by 


26 


HIS ARRIVAL. 


the wind. The sound of his tramping feet assured 
Paul that he was crossing some kind of a wooden 
structure. In a sudden lull of the storm he caught 
a sound like the rushing of water over rocks, and 
knew it must be the river somewhere beneath his 
feet. He afterwards noted that those drowsy 
echoes came from a spot under the bridge where 
the shallow water purled over the rocks. Gen- 
erally, no coverlid of ice here protected the river, 
but it openly shivered in the bleak air. 

“ Miles Baker ! ” thought Paul, reaching the end 
of the bridge. “ Wonder where Miles Baker 
lives ! I must hunt him up.” 

This houseless, homeless individual had a strong 
conviction that Miles Baker ought to be hunting 
him up. As he was looking confusedly at the 
lights winking at him through the sheeted snow, 
Paul muttered : 

“ Miles Baker, where art thou ? ” 

“ Bak-r-r,” roared the storm amid unseen branches 
overhead, as if it would frighten back Miles Baker’s 
man. 

“ There’s a store ; I will ask in there,” said 
Paul. “ They can tell me about Miles, I know.” 

To Paul’s inquiry, the storekeeper replied civilly, 
but he stared uncivilly, as if he wished to improve 
his chance and take in all of Paul that was possi- 
ble ; photograph him, catalogue him, label him. 

“You will — find — him — down to — his 
store,” said the keeper deliberate^, still staring 


HIS ARRIVAL. 


27 


and repeating his words as if to keep Paul for ad- 
ditional inspection ; “ yes, you will — find him 

down — to his store — next store going — down 
street.” 

Paul stepped out, but wished to step back and 
ask which way was 44 down street ” this dark night, 
but concluded to try Paul Endicott as guideboard. 
He had hardly closed the door and left the 
premises, when the storekeeper turned quickly to 
a group of semi-roasted boys around a red-hot 
stove, and shouted : 44 Boys, there’s the new school- 
master, I bet. Wants to hunt up the agent. 
Scatter quick, I tell ye, if ye want to get a peek at 
him ! ” 

Those seats around the stove were cleared as 
suddenly as if lightning had struck and stripped 
them. 

If Paul had turned toward the window in the 
store door, he would have seen four or five faces 
all pressing against the small panes and pressing 
against one another ; his gentle scholars shoving 
and squirming in their eagerness to catch the first 
glimpse of their new teacher. 

44 Say, Bill Potwin, can ye lick him ? ” was the 
interesting conundrum proposed by one youth to 
another. 

44 Lick him? Can’t see him, he’s that small. 
Shouldn’t object to havin’ a tussle with him.” 

The schoolmaster would have been very much 
interested in these remarks if he could have heard 


28 


HIS ABRIVAL. 


them. As it was, he was conscious of something 
else ; that he was colliding with a hard and stoutly 
resisting object. Was this the spirit of that Bill 
Potwin and that other malicious youth in the 
district rising up and suddenly opposing itself to 
this proposed administrator of school law ? 

“ Hal-loo ! Where ye bound ? Got no head 
lights ? ” 

It was an energetic, nasal voice, proceeding from 
the hard, colliding object. 

“I — I beg pardon,” said Paul courteously, 
stepping aside quickly. 

“ Guess ye got good as you sent, and it’s all 
even,” rang out again this vigorous, nasal voice. 
“ Ha, ha ! ” 

“ Coarse,” thought Paul. “ No fun in that 
voice. Likes to hear himself neigh.” 

This was a very correct analysis of the qualities 
of that voice and its owner elated with the vigor 
of mere animal nature, but hardly appreciative of 
the fun in a thing. 

Paul made no open answer, but dignifiedly 
moved away, and another moment was querying 
where his missing agent might be. 

“ Miles Baker’s store — Miles Baker,” he re- 
peated, looking about him. 

“ Ah ! ” he exclaimed, “ there it is ; the windows 
filled with everything, I imagine, from a clothes- 
line to the towel that hangs on it.” 

When Paul entered the warm, close store, he 


HIS ARRIVAL. 


29 


saw a big, coarse-featured girl behind the counter. 
A thin, ragged fringe of red curls drooped about 
her head. Her whitish blue eyes were void of any 
expression of force of character. The face was 
kindly, while weak. 

“ Is Mr. B-Baker the school agent in ? ” inquired 
Paul. He spoke in a half-unconcerned way, and 
yet with a certain dignity, as if remembering that 
whatever he may have been a mile away, humbly 
wallowing in the snow and confusedly hunting for 
a lost bag, here he was the village schoolmaster. 
The girl at once began curiously to speculate upon 
the probable character of this seeker after informa- 
tion. The facts in the case were these, and she 
took them all in at once : a stranger better dressed 
than the villagers generally, wearing a drab shawl, 
had inquired for her father, not as a storekeeper, 
but as the school agent. This point she promptly 
made and emphasized. She carefully laid it aside 
until she had in hand her second point. Rumor, 
she remembered, had said that the expected teacher 
of the winter school was from college, and was not 
yet twenty-one, and were not students wont to wear 
their hair long ? 

To that other point secured and in reserve she 
added this ; a long-haired young man not twenty- 
one. She proceeded like a blacksmith fashioning 
a chain and adding link to link ; like a lawyer 
establishing his points as he goes through an argu- 
ment and aims at a grand conclusion ; like a hunter 


30 


HIS ARRIVAL. 


chasing an animal’s tracks amid the forest, and 
looking ahead for its hole ; like a sailor examining 
the pieces of a wreck coming ashore, deciding their 
connection with one another, and in thought com- 
bining them into a vessel. The girl’s conclusion 
was, that the blacksmith’s links and the lawyer’s 
propositions led to the schoolhouse, and this animal 
unknown tracking the winter snow, this mysterious 
piece of driftwood coming out of the great outside 
somewhere must be the — Master ! She answered 
his question by asking another — a favorite Yankee 
method : 

“ O, la ! are you the — mas-s-ster ? ” 

“I — am,” said Paul with dignity, quietly 
pleased to think something in his appearance sig- 
nified that he was the schoolmaster. 

“ Now father will be real s-sorry,” she said, with 
a frank, ready familiarity, simpering away in her 
soft, thin tones. “ I s-s’pose-s you want to know 
where you’ll s-stop. Well, we — I am Amanday, 
his daughter — we ” — 

Paul bowed in recognition of the fact that he 
stood in the presence of Miss Amanda Baker. In- 
wardly he groaned : “ Oh ! oh ! am I going to board 
at the Bakers’ ? ” 

His spirits sank. 

All the pride and stiffness went out of his atti- 
tude. He was as limp as when hunting on his 
hands and knees for his carpet bag amid the chill- 
ing snow. 


HIS ARRIVAL. 


31 


“ Well, I was a-goin’ to say, we can’t take 
you ” — 

Paul’s spirits bounded up. He was again the 
proud pedagogue. 

“ I think you’re a-goin’ to s-stop at another place 
— at Simon Hanscom’s-s. You might ask there, 
but — well, I know you will s-top there.” 

“ Thank you. Which way is it to Mr. Hans- 
com’s?” asked Paul, determined as schoolmaster 
to set a proper example, and give everybody due 
respect. 

“Well, now, you go down a piece-s, la! I 
mean up a piece-s ; I am real forgitful. It’s-s on 
a s-small street back of the tavern. There are 
only two houses-s on the s-street, and S-simon 
Hanscom’s is to the right.” 

She very frankly offered to go with him, and 
promptly moved toward a pair of big boy’s boots 
near the stove, as if about to jump into them. 

Paul, however, was from the college at Bruns- 
wick and not accustomed to female companionship. 
Feeling that he had come very near the edge of a 
precipice, he politely declined the offer and went 
out into the storm again. 

The dignified schoolmaster had hardly left Miles 
Baker’s store, when a young man about twenty- 
five entered it. He came in energetically, tossed 
up his head like a horse about to neigh, and looked 
sharply around the store. He seemed to be a com- 
bination of a bombastic stamp and a fierce look. 


32 


HIS ARRIVAL. 


A huge red comforter swathed the lower part of 
his face, and his felt hat had a slouching rim, 
under which were those piercing eyes. 

“ Gone ? ” he said, looking round intently once 
more. He had the same hard, coarse voice that 
Paul heard when he collided with an obstacle on 
legs near the other store. 

“ La ! ” said Amanda in soft, coquettish tones ; 
44 whom do you mean, Mr. Potwin ? ” 

44 Mean ? Why, I mean that individual who is 
going to teach the school on this side. He came 
over here. Thought I would like to look at him. 
I guessed who he was.” 

44 La, Mr. Potwin, you know well as-s I do that 
he has-s gone.” 

44 No, I don’t.” 

He now unswathed his throat, flung off the 
damp flakes from his hat, unbuttoned and shook 
his coat, and then pounded the floor energetically 
with his big feet till the snow lay in little heaps 
all about him. If massed the snow would have 
made a small-sized drift. 

44 Now ain’t you ashamed of yourself, a-s-snowin’ 
that floor?” said the coquette poutingly. 

44 What are floors made for, I want to know, 
Amanday ? ” 

44 If that’s the way you treat floor-s I wouldn’t 
want to go to s-school to you, Mr. Potwin. You 
are jest horrid.” 

44 Ha, ha ! If you should come on my side of 


HIS ARRIVAL. 


33 


the river and go to my school, you would have to 
toe the line.” 

“I won’t toe any of your lines-s. They s-say 
you are jest horrid. There now ! ” 

“ Ha, ha ! I am, to law breakers.” 

Here Titus Potwin, the keeper of the school on 
the east side of the river, knit his brows, scowled, 
and looked as if aping Rhadamanthus on his judg- 
ment seat. He also put up his hand and felt care- 
fully for two sleek and well-oiled knobs of light 
brown hair, one on each side of his head. This 
haystack feature he had noticed in the portrait of 
some distinguished man, and he had proudly 
copied it, magnifying, though, the dimensions of the 
pattern. He had a small, salmon-tinted moustache. 
His chin was built out like the poop of an old 
Dutch man-of-war. It alwaj^s shone as if, just 
coming into port, it had received a fresh rubbing 
and oiling. If his face and manner suggested 
anything, it was energy, sleepless, hard, willful, 
imperious. 

“Now you needn’t be envious-s, Mr. Potwin,” 
said Amanda, recklessly playing with this iron- 
handed, iron-willed pedagogue from the other side 
of the river. “We big girls-s are all a-goin’. 
He is-s from collig, you know, and he mus-s-st be 
nice.” 

This touched Titus. He was envious. He did 
not like to see this importation of a young man 
from college. He believed, as he was continually 


34 


HIS ARRIVAL. 


saying, in the “ town-raised ” and the “ self-edu- 
cated,” and presented himself proudly as a speci- 
men of this class. A shrewd, tireless young farmer 
during the summer, he was a schoolmaster in 
winter. He was famous for “ keepin’ good order,” 
for his “ g-guv-vern-ment ” in districts accounted 
hard and stubborn. He was also classified as a 
“ master hand for carryin’ classes through the 
fun-der-mentals.” 

He now glared about the store as if he thought 
this rival from college, this aristocratic and pam- 
pered son of classic and ill-improved leisure, might 
be hiding behind a barrel of flour, or be packed 
away in a box of sugar, or might pop out of a bag 
of meal. He then left the store abruptly. 

When Paul had knocked at the door of a house 
conjectured to be the Hanscoms’, there appeared, 
in response to his summons, a short, thick-set old 
lady in a brown dress. She carried a hand lamp 
in which was a so-called “ burning fluid,” a popular, 
illuminating agency in those days, good to see by 
and handy to blow up by. Without waiting for 
any announcement by Paul, she smilingly said : 

“ Won’t you walk in, sir ? ” 

“ Thank you. This — is — Mrs. Hanscom ? ” 

“ I’m a Hanscom if I be anything. I guess you 
are on the right track.” 

“ You looking for the teacher, madam? ” 

“B’en a-lookin’ all day. Simon, too, didn’t jest 
feel easy about you, and he’s gone down to the 


HIS ARRIVAL. 


35 


bridge and the tavern. He’s dreadful a-feared of 
that bridge ” — 

“He didn’t think I would go over the bridge 
rail into the river ? ” asked Paul, laughing. 

“ It is real resky when you look down,” said the 
old lady, lifting her brown eyes to Paul. He saw 
that there was a slight cast to them. It gave her 
a look of trying to see round a corner, in order to 
make out the person she was talking with. 

“ Yes,” she affirmed again ; “ he is dreadful 
a-feared of that bridge. He says if you don’t go 
over it, why, it may go over on to you.” 

It touched, while it amused Paul to think of the 
old man patroling the bridge in the wild storm for 
fear that the schoolmaster might go over into the 
river. Somebody then did care for this unknown 
being, swept into town by the snowy blasts of 
the chilling winter night. Paul felt at home 
immediately. 

- “Here, Sammy,” said the old lady, “jest clap 
some wood into the stove.” 

“ I will, Grandmother.” 

A boy of twelve, with a full, round face, moved 
promptly toward the wood-box, but all the while 
eagerly, nervously eying the new teacher. He, 
too, had a cast to his brown eyes. He looked so 
much like the old lady, that if he had been en- 
veloped in a brown gown, and if a gingham apron 
marked off like a checkerboard into black and 
white squares had been tied about his waist, you 


36 


HIS ARRIVAL. 


would have said it was the grandmother squeezed 
down into a boy’s dimensions. The old lady was 
remarking, 44 Now you must have some supper 
fust thing — Mr. — Mr.” — 

44 Endicott, please. You are very thoughtful. 
I would like some supper very much.” 

Again he declared, 44 You are very thoughtful.” 

44 O, no ! ” she said deprecatingly. 44 I’d be wuss, 
wuss, Mr. — Mr. — Rendercut than a pirut if I 
didn’t give you some supper. I haven’t got much 
to-night.” 

She conducted him to a small adjoining room 
where she had spread a table with a great variety 
of food; with bread, plum cake and plain cake, 
pies of various kinds, cold ham, corned beef, two 
kinds of pickles, and three kinds of preserves. 

Paul thought of Joseph in Egypt when contem- 
plating the provisions stored in anticipation of the 
seven years of famine. 

44 1 have been a-spectin’ you long back — for three 
days really. I’ll make some fresh tea for you.” 

Paul felt ashamed of the treasonable thought 
which came to him ; a wonder if this feast had 
been on the table for three days. After a very in- 
vigorating supper, he went to his room. 

Soon a gray-haired man came into the kitchen 
and looked anxiously about him. 

44 Has he come?” asked Simon Hanscom. 

44 Yes,” said the old lady, in suppressed tones, 
lifting a hushing finger ; 44 he — he’s gone to bed.” 


HIS ARRIVAL. 


37 


“ Wall, I couldn’t see nuthin’ of him on the 
bridge.” 

“ Simon, what do you think ? ” 

“ What is it, Samanthay ? ” 

“ He makes me think of Ajux.” 

The old lady’s underlip quivered. 

Ajax was a much-loved son who in his youth 
had sailed away in a “ fore and aft ” from the wild 
Maine coast. He had never sailed back. When 
the meeting-house vane said the wind was east, 
in the harsh, murmurous breath sweeping up from 
the sea-coast, the old mother thought she heard the 
sound of a wail for the lamented Ajax. It was a 
much-mooted point, Paul afterwards found, whether 
Ajax were alive or dead. His mother believed 
that the sea only was his deep, inscrutable grave. 


CHAPTER III. 


THE VILLAGE AND ITS INHABITANTS. 
FTER his first night’s sleep in the river vil- 



iA_ lage, Paul curiously examined the details 
of this new world into which he had come. There 
•was his room. It was known as “ the spare room.” 
Ordinarily, it could have been used as a refriger- 
ator. It was in the northwest, arctic corner of the 
house and rarely visited. A huge open stove fed 
by wood from a seemingly endless pile of oak and 
maple in the shed, now kept the room comfortable. 
The crackling and roaring of this lively fire had a 
social sound, and suggested that nowadays there 
was always “ company ” in the spare room — judg- 
ing by its aspect. 

It was hard to say whether the host might be a 
mariner down by the wild rocky coast, or a farmer 
in the depths of the country. On the two corners 
of the mantel-piece were immense vases of dried 
grasses, but ‘ behind a row of old-fashioned da- 
guerreotypes and ambrotypes, was an array of sea 


38 


THE VILLAGE AND ITS INHABITANTS. 39 


shells. These had never lost their soft, pearl-like 
finish within, or a hushed, weird sea-echo which 
Paul heard when he lifted a shell to his ear. 
Above the mantel-piece were two pictures. One 
was rural. It fairly flamed with fire-yellow, in the 
midst of which, and wondrously unharmed stood 
blue oxen, while their admirers were in frock and 
trousers of a radiant red. This was labeled a 
“.County Fair.” 

This cheerful scene was inclosed in a frame of 
pine cones. The colors of the second picture were 
as startling, but the features were entirely different, 
and the scene was framed in sea shells. It was a 
picture of a vessel, the Sea Hawk , supposed to 
be a copy of a schooner Simon Hanscom had com- 
manded in the coasting-trade. Simon having been 
skipper as well as farmer, the two occupations 
were faithfully reflected in the decorations of the 
spare room. No mirror could have reflected this 
double fact more faithfully. In comparison with 
that brilliant “ County Fair ” and the exciting rate 
at which the old coaster was supposed to be going, 
the procession of daguerreotypes and ambrotypes 
— the precursors of the photographs of to-day — 
was a very humble and tame affair. All in the 
row were open to the inspection of any occupants 
of the spare room, the faces staring out in solemn 
succession. 

“ What’s this ? ” asked Paul, halting before the 
second in this silent array that, day and night, 


40 THE VILLAGE AND ITS INHABITANTS. 

summer and winter, through heat and cold, looked 
without one tired wink into the depths of the spare 
room. That second face was that of a young man 
of about Paul’s age. In a crooked penmanship, on 
a slip of paper, before this ambrotype, was the one 
word AJAX. 

“ Ajax ! ” exclaimed Paul. “ Who is Ajax ? ” 

Before Paul had been in the house twenty-four 
hours, the old lady had told him the story of the 
missing vessel and the reported loss of Ajax. 

“ I am sure I am very sorry for you,” said Paul 
sympathetically. 

“ Much obleeged,” said the old lady, wiping out 
her eyes. 

As she recalled his tone of condolence, she told 
herself, “ His voice sounds like Ajux-es, jest-er- 
zackly.” 

From Paul to the young man — for somehow 
the face on the mantel seemed to be alive — there 
passed a strange, deep current of fraternal feeling. 
Mrs. Hanscom told Paul that his eyes were like 
those of her son, and as Paul in the features of 
Ajax traced a young man’s energy, daring, hope, 
the soul of Paul was knit to that of Ajax, like the 
soul of David to Jonathan in Holy Scriptures. 
Then the melancholy interest surrounding the 
young man’s asserted death was transferred to his 
picture. Paul thought of this same face with closed 
eyes resting calmly on its bed of soft sea moss 
far down the tumbling waters off the rocky Maine 


THE VILLAGE AND ITS INHABITANTS 41 


coast. When Paul took up a shell behind the pict- 
ure and held it to his ear, he seemed to hear a 
murmurous, musical plaint for the unfortunate 
Ajax. Unfortunate ? If one be dead, is death a 
misfortune ? Never, unless our own evil wills may 
make it so. Life ! That is one gate opening into 
this transient world. Death! That is the other 
gate, whose turning on its hinges we never hear, 
and yet it admits us to a glorious sphere. 

But there were those still living on the earth, liv- 
ing beyond any question, and two were in the 
Hanscom house — Simon and Samantha — and we 
must know them. Simon Hanscom, or as often 
called “ Cap’n Hanscom,” in honor of his former 
skippership, was a simple-minded man, not in the 
weak sense intellectually, but the strong sense mor- 
ally. He had “ a single eye ” that in its percep- 
tions saw the right side of a question very clearly. 
He never wavered in his decisions like one seeing 
right and wrong confusedty. Right to him was 
right, and to be followed implicitly ; wrong was 
wrong, and to be abhorred with all the strength of 
his nature. What Simon Hanscom condemned, he 
did not practice. Paul Endicott found that the 
old skipper-farmer and he had some points of 
contact, and one was this matter of looking at 
things in the light of right and wrong, rather than 
policy and convenience. Paul’s friends sometimes 
laughed at him as inclined to “ magnify and stick 
at trifles,” insisting upon it that his conscience was 


42 THE VILLAGE AND ITS INHABITANTS. 


“ morbid,” though no one of those who laughed 
and made fun, was wise enough to doctor the so- 
called disease. 

Paul heard people talking about Simon Hanscom, 
just as his friends had charged over-scrupulousness 
upon him. 

Some of the villagers called Simon “ good — O, 
yes ! — but fanatical.” He was radical in his posi- 
tion on the temperance question, and would have 
forever closed and kept forever bolted every rum 
saloon in his beloved State and country also. He 
was a friend to the slave when friendship meant 
hostility to one’s interests. 

“ Yes,” said Simon, 44 slavery is wrong ; that 
settles it.” A section of the famous secret “ under- 
ground railroad ” for the transportation of fugi- 
tive slaves to Canada, ran through the river 
village and had a station at Simon Hanscom’s. It 
was currently reported that several of these dusky 
fugitives whose crime was their color, had been 
harbored under 44 Cap’n Hanscom’s ” roof, and 
thence had sped away toward light, liberty and life. 
There were two colored families in the village, and 
44 Cap’n Hanscom ” was sure to stand up for them 
and frown upon any attempt to ostracize the hue for 
which they were no more responsible than coal is 
for its blackness. Simon could not tolerate any 
injustice, especially any unfairness of treatment be- 
cause the ancestors of one man had felt the sun 
more than another’s. 


THE VILLAGE AND ITS INHABITANTS. 43 


Side by side with all of Simon’s intense abhor- 
rence of wrong, with an uncompromising opposi- 
tion to it, was his great charity for the sinner. 

“ Now, Miles,” he said one day to the school 
agent who was lax in his views upon intemperance 
as well as slavery, “ I can see how their bringin’ 
up affects Southern people’s idee of slavery. If 
I was put among ’em, I might do jest the same. I 
make allowance for circumstances, don’t you see ? ” 

44 No, I don’t see. Cap’n, you are a puzzle to 
me,” said Miles. “Now I can’t see that slave 
holdin’ is so dreadful wrong. What are the crit- 
turs good for, any way ? Their masters take ’em 
and better ’em. Consequently, if I had a few — 
and I wish I had — what’s the harm if I better ’em ? 
But — but — if I thought it was wrong, I never, 
never would make the least grain of allowance for 
any man who held slaves. Guess you don’t think 
it is so very wrong to hold niggurs, arter all.” 

“ I think slavery is the child of the Devil,” said 
Simon, “ and I think it is doomed with him. I 
shall live, yes, I shall live to see my land clear of 
this evil. I shall see all over it the light of Free- 
dom. I shall live to see the black man walking by 
the side of the white man, his equal, a free, free 
man, Miles Baker.” 

Paul’s landlady repeated this conversation to 
him, for she chanced to overhear it. 

“ They were at the back door, for I heard ’em, 
Mister Rendercut, and wasn’t I proud of Simon ! 


44 THE VILLAGE AND ITS INHABITANTS. 

Simon jest stretched out his arm and p’inted to the 
sun. Didn’t he look grand ? And didn’t that ere 
Miles Baker look small, as if he wanted to find a 
peanut shell into which to crawl ! I really think 
if Simon had an eddication, folks might have hearn 
from him.” 

“ I should say Miles Baker had heard from him 
already, Mrs. Hanscom.” 

This pleased her. 

She had great respect for Capt. Hanscom’s latent 
genius, and she did not have much respect for 
Miles Baker’s narrowness. 

“ That man somehow, Mr. Rendercut,” she once 
confessed to Paul, “ goes right ag’in my grain.” 

Samantha was different from Simon. She could 
not forgive as easily as he. Sin she hated, and she 
could not readily make allowance for the sinner. 
She could not easily go behind the sin and esti- 
mate for the sinner’s antecedents, for an inherited 
twist of nature, and unfavorable early surroundings, 
and so make for that culprit an allowance which 
could not be conceded to another with a better start 
in life. She might not make room in her individual 
judgments for the individual judged. The doctrine 
of heredity in “Elsie Venner” would not always 
have found a disciple in Samantha. Simon, though, 
had a guest-chamber for just such ideas. He could 
easily allow for circumstances. He showed an- 
other peculiarity. It was true that he could be 
secretive. He could grip a secret even as oak-bark 


THE VILLAGE AND ITS INHABITANTS. 45 


the oak-trunk. It would all be for principle’s sake, 
though. He did not enjoy secretiveness. He re- 
joiced in frankness. Only as a duty could he cul- 
tivate the secretive element, and he could raise a 
huge harvest if necessary. 

64 Simon will turn himself inside out to any 
tramp,” Samantha had said, 44 but he’d let ’em” — 
here her eyes flashed like embers freshly blown 
upon — 44 he’d let ’em roast him alive afore he’d 
tell a slave’s hidin’-place.” 

On the other hand, Samantha had much of the 
hide-away element in her very nature. She en- 
joyed any secrecy for its own sake. She would 
have made an enthusiastic lover of the mystic 
lodge-room, would have rejoiced in all its secrets 
of grip, password, and signals. 44 I don’t think 
much of them things,” Simon once said. 

His wife would have fed on them, as on the 
secret honeycombs in the depths of the trunks of 
forest-trees. 

It was not easy therefore to give the key of her 
• soul to any one that asked for it, to unlock the 
depths of the honeyed stores in the forest, and de- 
claring her opinions without reserve, welcome all 
to the feast. But here came in a seemingly con- 
tradictory element. If — if — she did give up that 
key, not only honey but pearls and diamonds, e very- 
thing she had, would be exposed to the gaze of her 
beloved. 44 Nothin’ ’tween me and Simon,” was a 
favorite motto with Samantha. 


46 THE VILLAGE AND ITS INHABITANTS. 

Another person now won her confidence. “ Si- 
mon,” she said one day, “ I b’lieve I’m a fool ; 
I’ve told that schoolmaster so many things.” 

“Wall, S’manthay, he isn’t a fool, so I guess you 
can trust him I” 

“ I hope so, Simon. I should be terribly disap- 
p’inted if he should turn out like some of them 
college fellers.” 

“ Lots of nice ones among ’em at Brumswick. 
They’ll turn out well as the average of most folks, 
sartin, and fii my opinion a leetle grain better, 
S’manthay,” replied Simon. 

In addition to the above qualities, Samantha was 
stocked with a little — temper. When her eyes 
snapped, when her cheeks were flushed, when her 
lips began to quiver, her tongue not uttering a 
word, Simon knew that all this was a sign infal- 
lible. He would say, but it was a word in his own 
ear, “ S’manthay’s a-brewin’ ! ” 

Whatever this might mean, it meant something. 
Like a man truly wise, he would then observe the 
silence which is golden, when “ S’manthay was a- • 
brewin’.” 

However, take Simon’s spouse just as she was, 
and you saw in her a big-hearted woman, intensely 
loyal to her ideas of right, to her husband, and to 
her two children, a daughter down by the sea and 
that absent Ajax who, whether living or dead, was 
always present in the mother’s thoughts. 

Samantha was capable of making, and did make 


THE VILLAGE AND ITS INHABITANTS. 47 


great sacrifices for those persons and those causes 
that she loved. She carried a great heart, a roomy 
soul in that short, stubby frame. There were 
many whom she welcomed to her hearty hospi- 
tality. Once received, they were never turned 
away unless traitors who themselves first opened 
the door by which she expelled them. With a 
tenacity that would not yield, she clung to the 
souls that proved worthy of her love. With this 
woman and her husband, Paul was to abide for 
three months. 

Outside of the Hanscom home there was the vil- 
lage to interest Paul. He went into it the next 
morning after his arrival. In those great news 
exchanges — the post-office and the tavern — his 
purpose was to post notices of a “lost traveling 
bag.” 

The world may have many such villages, but in 
Paul’s experience this was unique. He had lived 
in an ancient seaport town where the houses were 
packed as close as the tenants of a herring-box. 
The streets were about as narrow as the spaces the 
fishermen allowed between the flakes on which 
they dried their cod, “ polluck ” and “ heddick.” 
When he went to sojourn in a college town, he 
found ample breathing opportunities, but Bruns- 
wick did not have the picturesqueness of the river 
village. Here was one wide street, level, and 
arched by big elms. Very few streets ventured to 
digress and call the traveler’s attention away from 


48 THE VILLAGE AND ITS INHABITANTS. 

this main thoroughfare. At its side swept the 
glassy river that the sunset’s level beams changed 
to another and a golden street. 

The river never forsook the companionship of 
the broad, beautiful village street. All day the 
ripples were whispering their soft praises and 
solicitations to the trees upon the banks. To 
such wooings, the trees would reply in very 
coquettish beckonings with their branches. The 
wooing in freshet time might be so violent, and 
the trees might wave their responses so eagerly 
and recklessly low, that sometimes they would fall 
into the arms of the treacherous current. 

“ How still it is ! ” thought Paul as he walked 
along that wide village street. 

Away down this avenue, far under the archway 
of trees, he saw a lonely dark object and heard a 
mellow tinkle of bells. The object, as it neared 
him, turned into a horse and sleigh, and at a very 
deliberate pace went by him. Then he saw a 
solitary man slowly crossing the broad street to 
the post-office. Finally, a single child with won- 
dering eyes passed him leisurely. 

The trees interested him more than any humanity 
— the trees with their naked boughs running up and 
meeting like Gothic arches, crossing and recross- 
ing, making multitudinous curves and angles, 
combining in intricate fretwork and tracery, then 
separating only to leave one grand, rugged limb 
shooting up to touch another big bough, till over- 


THE VILLAGE AND ITS INHABITANTS. 49 


head there stood out a vaulted roof, temple-like, 
where it seemed as if the warbling of a great, 
sweet choir must be forever echoing. 

The next day was Sunday. That was another 
revelation in this village world to which Paul 
Endicott had been admitted. Such a deserted old 
street ! Such stillness ! Such a sense of worship, 
as if under the great vaulted roof of elms a won- 
derful psalm had just been sung, and then followed 
the long hush of adoration ! But at church time 
— the people more generally said meeting time — 
there was a great change in the street. Under 
the big, silent elms, there was a sudden noise all 
musical, even the rush of sleigh bells from every 
direction toward a plain white church half-way 
down the street. 

Its architecture was that of an oblong box. On 
the eastern end of the ridgepole rested a second 
box, but small and square, and this supported a 
cone that terminated in a vane. A small but agile 
bell was the tenant of the little square box. At 
every somersault turned by this nimble acrobat in 
the belfry there would be a musical response down 
in the street from a fresh arrival of sleigh bells, as 
if these were trying to turn over also. The church 
within was plain and stiff and straight, all the lines 
going up and down and across, whether those lines 
bounded the walls of the church or the frames 
of the windows. A curve would have been a 
heresy. 


50 THE VILLAGE AND ITS INHABITANTS. 

There was one showy ambitious attempt at orna- 
mentation. Behind the box-like pulpit, just under 
the ceiling, was a long gilt arrow, and from this 
drooped the folds of a faded red curtain. Paul 
wondered what the arrow meant; whether it were 
a hint to any occupant of the pulpit that his ser- 
mon points might need sharpening, or was it 
Truth’s pointed arrow in general ? Then the 
curtain ; was this a piece of symbolism ? Did it 
suggest veiled mysteries in doctrine? Was it a 
reminder of the days of the tabernacle in Scripture 
that had wonderful hangings of purple and scarlet ? 
Could it be drapery of a later date, a dosel, a u rag 
of popery ” in disguise, and a relic unconsciously 
cherished ? 

The arrow and the curtain interested the school- 
master very much. 

Paul had been accustomed to a liturgical service, 
but he had the mind of the wise, the spirit, too, of 
all catholic disciples whose God cannot be confined 
to the walls of any one church, but they find him 
in congregations wherever reverent hearts bow the 
knee, and never there unless the scepter of his 
kingdom throws first a shadow in their own 
hearts. 

There was one feature of the service that seemed 
very strange to him. When the hymn had been 
announced and read, as the choir began to sing 
(this was stationed in the rear of the church, 
occupying “ the singers’ gallery ”) the congrega- 


THE VILLAGE AND ITS INHABITANTS. 51 


tion rose, turned their backs on Parson Partridge 
and faced the choir. 

This was done with so much military precision 
that it almost seemed to Paul as if an order had 
been given from the pulpit, “ Right about, face ! ” 
When Paul had swung round with the congre- 
gation and faced the choir, whom should he 
see in that goodly row of singers but — “ Alces- 
tis!” Yes, there she was, her sweet face with its 
drooping eyes as unconscious of its beauty as if 
she were a shrinking violet out by the brookside 
in spring. 

Paul sat with the Hanscoms. This fact grieved 
Amanda Baker, who had persuaded her father to 
invite him to a seat in their sacred inclosure. 
She had reasoned that the fitting location for the 
schoolmaster was in the school agent’s pew. The 
Hanscoms’ seat was rather conspicuous, and Paul 
may be forgiven if he wondered whether any one 
noticed that the schoolmaster had arrived. 

After that first look at the choir, he had thoughts 
only for Alcestis. He noticed every item of her 
dress. And what did Alcestis wear? She had 
donned a small bonnet not so much like a “ hat ” 
as the style worn nowadays. It was a pink silk 
bonnet, and it was tied with pink strings. It had 
a lining of white lace ruche or crepe lisse. That 
soft snowy lace — so the schoolmaster thought — 
was like the petals of a rich white rose inclosing 
such a sweet, pure center. 


52 THE VILLAGE AND ITS INHABITANTS. 


Paul noticed too the cape upon her shoulders. 
It was a so-called Talma, and it was of the shade 
known as “ ashes of roses.” Alcestis wore gloves 
that matched the cape. Paul was so minute in his 
inspection that he felt guilty of a very rude staring, 
and if Alcestis had looked up, she would have seen 
the schoolmaster’s face suffused with a guilty 
blush. She did not look up. It relieved Paul of 
any embarrassment, and yet it disappointed him. 

That choir ! The bass roared like the bears re- 
puted once to have been on the hills about the 
village. The tenor was frightfully nasal. As for 
the alto, it was so modest that it was not audible, 
the bass overwhelming and smothering it with an 
avalanche of hoarse roars. Paul had ears, though, 
only for the singing of the rich soprano. This he 
located in the throat of Alcestis. To him, the so- 
prano was a compound of equal parts of canary, 
bobolink and nightingale. He afterwards learned 
that Alcestis had sung alto that day. 

“ Alcestis in the choir ! ” thought Paul. “ Will 
she come to school ? O, no ! Dear me ! She is on 
the other side of the river, and will go to that Titus 
Potwin whom Mrs. Hanscom calls 4 a bear ! * That 
doesn’t seem the fitting thing, that a girl of her evi- 
dently refined tastes should go to one who is a 
ruffian in his manners. Mrs. Hanscom said he 
teaches on the other side. She said it plainly.” 

Paul was not satisfied with his inference that 
this swan-like singer would be in the daily training 


THE VILLAGE AND ITS INHABITANTS. 53 


of the Potwin bear. For some reason, Paul was 
very absent-minded after the church services that 
day. Mrs. Hanscom noticed his reverie. Was it 
the “ may-ld-ry ” whose first symptoms were troub- 
ling the schoolmaster. She had previously given 
him a list of the sicknesses peculiar to the neigh- 
borhood, and one was “ may-la-ry.” Was its spell 
insidiously stealing over him ? 

The afternoon was nearing its close. It was 
very still in the house. Without, in the wintry 
heavens, the sun was sinking, flushing with golden 
color all the west. Paul had informed Mrs. Hans- 
com that he did not think he had may-la-ry. From 
sickness, the subject naturally changed to death, 
and then the old lady asked, “ Your parents a-livin’, 
Mr. Rendercut ? ” 

“No, Mrs. Hanscom. My uncle is my guardian, 
and he lives in Massachusetts.” 

“ Poor boy,” thought Mrs. Hanscom, looking at 
the schoolmaster with new and tender interest. 
“ He has got no father, no mother. How much he 
looks like Ajux.” 

From that hour, the old lady silently adopted 
the schoolmaster as her son. He was something 
else than “ Mister Rendercut.” 

It seemed to her as if Ajax had come back; 
as if going out into the entry, she would have 
seen on the schoolmaster’s nail, the coat and hat 
of Ajax. She beheld that much-loved person sit- 
ting in the schoolmaster’s chair. When the sun 


64 THE VILLAGE AND ITS INHABITANTS. 

had gone down, she heard Paul singing in his room. 
He had a rich, mellow voice. She went to the 
foot of the stairs leading to his room and listened. 

“ What is home without a mother?” plaintively 
asked the singer. 

“ It is Ajux,” said the listener at the foot of the 
stairs, and she went away and sobbed as if her 
heart would burst its stout inclosure. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE OPINION OF WILL GAINES. 

ET us now go back to a conversation that 



-LJ took place two weeks before the opening 
of our story. 

Will Gaines and Paul Endicott sat down to- 
gether in a room at college to talk upon the sub- 
ject of schoolkeeping. It was “ dignity.” It 
meant at old Bowdoin an afternoon without a 
recitation, “ otium cum dignitatem They sank back 
into the generous arms of two very comfortable 
rocking-chairs before a drows}% purring fire. Not 
for half an hour would the diminutive chapel bell 
tinkle for evening prayers. 

Paul exclaimed, “Will, tell us how you did it.” 

“ Did what?” 

“ How you kept school last winter at that place 
where I go through your kindness in recommend- 
ing me ? As my predecessor, you ought to have 
quite a story to tell.” 

“ O, yes ! ” said Will, “just so.” He cleared his 


56 


THE OPINION OF WILL GAINES. 


throat, giving a kind of self-satisfied “ Hem-m-m ! ” 
And it was not strange that he had some degree 
of self-complacency. He was handsome. He had 
a great variety of gifts. He knew that when 
twenty-one he would be rich. No wonder that he 
felt a measure of self-satisfaction when he looked 
in the glass, or learned of his standing in his 
classes, or thought of his heavy pockets at the age 
of twenty-one. As a teacher he had met with 
very good success. 

“Well, Paul,” said Will sagely, “I will give 
you the benefit of my experience.” 

There is nobody like a college student, who has 
taught just one term, to explain schoolkeeping to 
another student who has never taught at all, and 
for that first student what a profound admiration 
the second student has ! 

Will continued: “Let me say this, Paul, in 
general. While I think I may do something for 
you by way of giving some hints, still you will 
have to find out for yourself in the main. Just 
like swimming, you know. You may stand by a 
boy s side in the water and tell him something 
about swimming, and it has its value. After all, 
though, he must dip in and paddle for himself, 
you know.” 

“ O, yes ! I suppose so.” 

“ I think the true teacher has it in him. He is 
born to it much as the real mechanic is to an inter- 
est in machinery. Hints will help one. Instruc- 


THE OPINION OF WILL GAINES. 


57 


tion is always valuable. Still, if it isn’t born in 
him to be a teacher, all the instruction your 
humble servant can impart is worth nothing.” 

44 How do you know but that you are speaking 
to one of the born kind? Be as encouraging as 
you can, for I shiver in my shoes when I think of 
that schoolhouse away back in the country on that 
river.” 

44 Paul, I expect you will do splendidly. You 
will have the respect of the parents, the admiration 
of the boys, while the girls ” — 

44 Stop that! Tell us what you did; just how 
' you began. See here ; go through the first day’s 
work.” 

44 Well, I will. I walked into school, looked 
them all over, you know, and then rang the 
scholars to order at nine. We had finished star- 
ing at one another by that time, and I told them 
to take out their Bibles. They did so. Then I 
told them they might read a certain psalm ; they 
one verse and I another. They hesitated, but I 
looked as if I meant they should read that psalm 
whether they ever read another or not. They got 
at it and did very well. Then I told them they 
might rise and we would say the Lord’s Prayer. 
Now you are better at those things than I am. 
Still, there wasn’t any hitch. Then I made a 
small speech, and ” — 

44 Did you tell them what you were going to 
do?” 


58 


THE OPINION OF WILL GAINES. 


“No, I didn’t, only in a general way. I said I 
was glad to meet them, and I hoped each one 
would try to do his or her duty, and I would do 
my best for them. That covered it, I think. I was 
a regular Spartan in the length of my speech.” 

“ Wish I could have heard you,” said Paul, who 
had large respect for Will’s forensic powers. 

“ I was careful about going into particulars and 
saying I would do this or that. Before you say 
you will do a thing, be sure that you can do it and 
that you will do it. Look before you leap, old 
boy. I saw that plain enough. Scholars lose re- 
spect for a teacher who is great in threats and big ' 
in promises, and then dwindles down to a very 
small performance. That is my experience,” said 
Will patronizingly, “ and you may take it for what 
it is worth.” 

“ Then you have had some experience about that 
‘ dwindling ’ ? ” 

“ My share, I am afraid. Oh ! but I haven’t 
finished that first day. Well, I then found out 
where they were studying, and tried to arrange 
them in classes. A host of classes, Paul. Recess 
came, and noon also, before I was aware of it. In 
the afternoon I finished organizing, and heard 
them read and sing. Some beautiful voices up 
there ! One girl with an alto voice ; I can hear 
her sing now. She is very pretty. You must not 
be too partial to her.” 

“I shall give her a wide berth,” said Paul; “but 


THE OPINION OF WILL GAINES. 


59 


it is well to know rocks of danger, that you may 
avoid them.” 

“Name? Alton. Don’t forget, ‘rock of dan- 
ger, Alton.’ Put it down in your notebook.” 

“Well, tell me some more. How did you 
govern the school ? ” 

“ That is something like asking a mechanic how 
he makes such beautiful objects. Govern? That 
has got to be in one. I can tell you some of my 
methods. I used to mark them for their recita- 
tions, and it helped the good order while it made 
them studious. A boy, to have good lessons and 
get a fair rank, can’t give very much time to mis- 
chief, as a rule, certainly. So in that sense the 
ranking helped me govern. Then I marked them 
for their misdemeanors, and I told them if they 
got twenty-five, something serious would happen 
— oh ! awful.” 

“ Then you did threaten big, and dwindled 
small, did you ? ” 

“ Ah, I was careful. I was not sure of my 
ground, whether the committee would like to have 
me send them a scholar that reached the twenty- 
five limit. You might make sending to the com- 
mittee a punishment, adding the fear of expulsion. 
But there, you don’t want to expel. You want to 
keep a boy or girl, and turn them into something 
better if you can. Then I might have flogged if 
a scholar reached the twent} r -five line, but I did 
not want to whip ” — 


60 


THE OPINION OF WILL GAINES. 


“Especially the girls, Will. You never were 
hard on their deficiencies.” 

“ And I didn’t want to be hard on the boys, 
either, mind you. I hate flogging. It does not 
trouble some boys, maybe ; but out of others it 
takes all the manhood, and I made up my mind 
I wouldn’t whip if I could possibly help it.” 

“ Well, did you ? ” 

“ Not once. I threw a mystery about that 
twenty-five-mark limit. I drew down my face, 
shook my head, and said the scholar getting 
twenty-five would receive my very — ahem — seri- 
ous consideration. But there, while I was awful 
the way I looked, I gave every scamp a chance 
by being good one week to cut down the old 
record by three, and so they managed when in 
danger to keep clear of the twenty-five, though it 
was a kind of air-hole in the ice that some of them 
did skate pretty near. I felt as much worried as 
they when I saw them in such danger.” 

“ What if they had actually gone in ? ” 

“ Oh ! I should have got hold of them by the 
collar, speaking figuratively, and done something 
or other.” 

“ The management of a school is a great thing, 
isn’t it?” 

“ Great ? I came to that conclusion by the time 
I was through. I didn’t think so much of it 
when I began. I felt equal to anything when I 
started.” 


THE OPINION OF WILL- GAINES. 


61 


“ But 4 dwindled ! ’ Well, didn’t the boys trouble 
you ? I mean did they ever trouble you so much 
that you thought you must whip them ? ” 

44 There was one boy I thought might give me 
trouble. Boy? He was a young man. I had a 
suspicion that he wanted to have a trial of strength 
with me, possibly a tussle in school. He did not 
have a good name. Well, of course I could have 
handled him.” 

Here Will rose, stretched himself up to his full 
height and strode about the room. He was a fine 
athlete, and this display of his person might be 
rather vain, but it was not an empty show. 

44 What did you do, Will ? ” 

44 What did I ? I had to use my wits. By good 
luck there came into the village, one day, a very 
heavily loaded team, on runners, of course. The 
driver left it not far from the schoolhouse at noon, 
while he went into a store to trade. The going 
was fearfully slushy, and the thing sunk and 
stuck, and the horses were balky, and they 
wouldn’t pull when the driver wanted to start 
them up. I saw my chance ; it was after school. 
I said to that big boy, 4 Shove on your side ! ’ He 
couldn’t stir it an inch. I lowered my shoulder 
and gave it a shove. That opened his eyes. He 
was docile after that.” 

44 What was his name ? ” 

44 1 see you want to know the names of all the 
good-looking girls and bad-behaving boys. His 


62 


THE OPINION OF WILL GAINES. 


name was Potwin — William Potwin. His brother 
Titus was a teacher on the other side of the river 
— a greasy-haired, conceited chap, I didn’t take to 
at all. Some of the people — Miles Baker, the 
school agent among them — thought a good deal 
of him because he was 4 raised there,’ they said, 
and had 4 made himself.’ Deliver us from any 
more such products of the soil, I say ! How- 
ever, it complicated things, you know, as Bill was 
a brother of the teacher.” 

44 How did this brother come to be a scholar in 
your school ? ” 

44 Oh ! the family lived on my side of the river.” 

44 1 see ; and his name once more ? ” 

44 Bill, brother to one Titus, a willful product 
of the soil — cabbage-head, say. Keep all the 
names I give you. Don’t forget ‘that rock of 
danger — one Alton.’ ” 

44 Oh ! did you have any trouble with the girls ? ” 

44 Trouble?” 

44 Yes ; did they behave well, or did they make 
you trouble ? ” 

Will twirled his handsome mustache in pride. 
What a question ! He had troubled the female 
sex all his lifetime, from babyhood up, but they 
had never troubled him. 

44 Did they, Paul ? They were my best friends, 
even to Aman^j/ Baker, the school agent's 
daughter. Got her name down ? She will want 
yours within twenty-four hours in a gilt-edged 


THE OPINION OF WILL GAINES. 


63 


album with a wreath of pink and yellow roses on 
the cover. Now, Paul, here is a piece of solemn 
advice. Always keep the girls on your side. I 
had a sagacious old uncle, who, in- his day, was a 
famous teacher. He said to me once, 4 William, 
when I taught school, I always made sure first 
that the girls were on my side. Having secured 
the girls, I was sure of the boys. Both boys and 
girls being pleased, I was sure of the parents. 
The parents satisfied, then the committee were all 
right, and I could just whistle and stick my hands 
in my pockets, proud as the king himself.’ I 
never forgot that advice, Paul.” 

44 What were the arts you practiced to secure 
that female co-operation ? I think it would be 
enough if you would just smile on your school.” 

44 Smile ? O, Paul ! I was a fearful tyrant. I 
stormed and ” — 

44 Nonsense ! ” 

44 But I made up fox' it out of school.” 

44 1 don’t doubt it.” 

44 But look here, Paul ! I learned one thing up 
there.” 

44 What was it ? I need to learn more than that; 
but give me a hint on one point.” 

44 1 learned to respect ability. We people who 
give ourselves to books may make a great mistake 
and fancy that knowledge is confined to us and 
will die with us. But my horizon up there 
widened a good deal. I appreciated the fact that 


64 


THE OPINION OF WILL GAJNES. 


there is a vast store of knowledge outside of books, 
and I got snubbed fearfully more than once.” 

“ How?” 

“ Oh ! I can’t confess everything to you, old 
fellow, but I will just make this general statement. 
Some dumpish old shoemaker, or slow, blundering 
farmer, as I thought, had picked up a lot of infor- 
mation in the line of their calling, and though I 
could decline corium or frumentum in Latin, when 
it came to actual leather or grain, I was just a fool. 
So it taught me to respect the man who knew how 
to do something, how to make a house or a shoe, 
or how to plant wheat or raise cattle. Yes, sir, it 
taught me to* respect the knowledge outside of 
books. I don’t know as I shall ever teach school 
again, but I shall always think of it as the time 
when I went to school and learned something 
myself.” 

“ You did well, Will. I think you have some 
good ideas on the subject. If I can only go and 
learn as well as teach ” — 

“ Oh ! you will, I know ; but look out for rocks 
of danger. Hark ! ” Will leaned forward and 
held up his hand. The glow from the fire played 
over the shadowy wall, while outside the autumn 
twilight deepened amid the pines back of the col- 
leges. Through the dusk, came the softened call 
of a bell. 

“Will, that is the chapel bell for prayers ! ” 

“ So it is, Paul ! ” 


THE OPINION OF WILL GAINES. 65 

They rushed and banged down through the bare 
echoing halls of South College, lighted already 
with dim, smoky oil-lamps, and hurried to the 
chapel. In the hush of the devotional hour, Paul 
heard the sonorous voice of the “prex”* as he 
read the old chapel Bible and bowed his head in 
prayer. Overhead, the last of the daylight lov- 
ingly lingered in the lofty, richly-tinted windows. 
Below were the gathered students, many of them 
impatient to hear the Amen. 

In the hurried exit that followed, in the walk 
across the college yard where eddied the dead 
autumn leaves, Paul Endicott forgot that he was 
the master-elect of a country school. 


* The president. 


CHAPTER V. 


THE FIRST MORNING. 


HE Monday morning that Paul Endicott 



-L opened his school, he felt that a new world 
was before him. Nature was in harmony with this 
impression. A damp snow in the night had given 
every tree and shrub a coating of snow. It seemed 
as if in the dark an order had arrived to turn into 
a marble temple all the architecture of elm and 
maple, apple-tree and cherry-tree, and those tiny, 
but nimble and cunning artificers, the flakes, had 
gone to work, and by sunrise the order was 
executed. There stood the great temple with all 
its connected structures in garden and field, glori- 
ous in the radiant whiteness of the snow. 

“ A new world,” said Paul to himself, as he 
looked down the length of the street. He would 
gladly have taken it as a happy omen, a glorious 
sign of the beauty, perfection, he would find in 
the school-world that he would very soon enter. 
But as he crossed the street and walked toward 


66 


THE FIRST MORNING. 


67 


the humble edifice which was a part of that world, 
his heart failed him. Was it the building whose 
homeliness oppressed him ? It did not look worse, 
nor better than hundreds of other schoolhouses in 
New England. It was a single story structure 
that stood end to the road, with white walls and 
faded green blinds. It proclaimed its mission as 
decidedly as the uniform announces a soldier. 

What made the master-elect hesitate ? The 
building looked peaceful. But that hum, that 
buzz, that — muffled roar, what did it mean ? 
Was the schoolhouse this morning a machine-shop, 
a factory, a grist-mill, a — what ? The master 
was halting. He was still outside of that mysteri- 
ous, noisy world of which his ears were now con- 
scious. Should he go forward ? If he crossed 
that threshold, he plunged into the responsibilities 
and anxieties of that world. For one moment 
he was free. Advance, and in another moment he 
was bound over to the service, the drudgery, and 
possibly to him the slavery of this big, unknown 
world, though nominally he was its master. He 
resolutely went forward, and opened the school- 
room door. As he looked in, halting a moment, 
the wriggling forms of those among the benches 
gradually became quiet, the shouts died down, 
chaos shaped itself into order, chaos became cosmos 
— in part. The master had come ! “ Oh — oh ! 

he is here ! ” “ There is the master! ” “Teacher 

has come ! ” were the hushed exclamations that 


68 


THE FIRST MORNING. 


went from lip to lip. All eyes were bent toward 
the door. The grinding in the grist-mill, the clat- 
tering wheels in machine shop and factory, came 
to a halt. 

While they looked, he looked. He saw a plain 
room with scarred walls, six rows of old-fashioned 
desks and seats — not chairs — a few dingy geo- 
graphical maps on the walls, and a long box-stove 
from which came the heat and odor of a wood fire. 
At his right and left were blackboards secured to 
the walls. In the corner opposite that where he 
entered, was a pen with an opening in one side. 
There was a shelf built within the pen, and the shelf 
served as a desk. This was the master’s sanctum. 
Here Justice took up her dread abode — a ferrule 
could be found in a box under the shelf — and 
here Wisdom reigned without a rival. The teacher 
of the last winter, Will Gaines, had left that at- 
mosphere accompanying the supposed possession 
of vast stores of learning. A long line of pred- 
ecessors had had their quarters here. As Paul 
thought of those who had tenanted that dingy 
little pen — schoolmasters in winter, schoolmarms 
in summer — their number appalled him. The 
spot seemed haunted by spectral forms innumerable. 
He could see advantages, though, in that kind of 
a pen. If the school agent would only furnish a 
door to it, then in any school insurrection, the 
master could turn his quarters into a fortress, and 
behind those wooden walls, like Themistocles of 


THE FIRST MORNING. 


69 


old, bid defiance to any assault. If tbe revolt 
were limited and personal, he could here confine 
the rebel, button the revolt in, and awe, and, if 
need be, starve him or her into submission. 

“The pen has its advantages,” thought Paul, 
“ if it can have a door.” 

Back of the master’s quarters was a dressing- 
room appropriated to the girls. 

When Paul had removed his hat and shawl, he 
took his chair and looked off upon this world over 
which he was expected to preside. There was a 
bewildering rush of emotions, but it was no time to 
indulge them, and he soon rang a little bell with 
all the vigor of an old hand. The big girls 
stopped their giggling, the young men pulled 
their rambling legs out of the aisles and stowed 
them under their cramping desks, while the little 
boys and girls squirmed into their places and tried 
to be still. All had been eying him, and there 
had been various comments by voice or slate. 

“ Pooh ! You can lick him, Bill,” was the mes- 
sage sent by a small boy to his admired leader on 
a back seat. “He looks as if he had just come 
out of a band-box,” wrote one tall girl to Amanda 
Baker, who replied, “ I think he is real nice.” 

“ The school will come to order,” said the new 
general, rising up behind his fortress walls. “ You 
may take out your Bibles. We will begin at the 
Psalms, and we will read responsively, as I think 
was your custom last winter.” 


70 


THE FIRST MORNING. 


This reference to Will Gaines’ method interested 
the school, and it seemed to Paul as if Will him- 
self rose out of the shadows of the royal pen 
and whispered in his ear : “ That’s a good move. 
Where you find any school custom in existence 
that you like, you continue it. Since the scholars 
are used to it, this fact will ensure its easy working.” 

“ You may rise, as was your custom last winter, 
and we will say the Lord’s Prayer,” said the mas- 
ter, when the lesson from the Psalms had been 
read. The school obeyed, and Will Gaines in the 
rear said, “ Good again.” 

It certainly gave the opening exercises a dignity 
and seriousness whose influence reached across the 
day like the stretch of a beneficent shadow over a 
dusty summer road. 

Let not the reading be hurried and irreverent, a 
garbled portion of the book, repeated in a slip-shod 
way. It is not the place or time for any such 
slovenly exercise. Let the Book from which comes 
our highest wisdom, have that reverent handling 
which it deserves. And as for the prayer, blessed 
is the school whose atmosphere trembles with the 
utterance of those words stirring the depths of our 
spiritual nature, “ Our Father.” Youth to-day 
may not appreciate the influence of that utterance. 
But as the years go on, as memory goes back, there 
will come the time when those words of supplica- 
tion, “ Our Father,” will, like a staff, strengthen 
his faltering children amid temptation, like a pillow 


THE FIRST MORNING. 


71 


rest them when tired and worn by cares, and in 
sorrow be as the shadow of a great rock in a weary 
land. But what was the next duty of the new 
master ? 

“ I suppose I must say something,” thought Paul, 
clearing his throat with a spasmodic little cough, 
and turning, as if to Will Gaines, for a helping 
suggestion. 

“ Go ahead,” whispered Will from the pen. 
“ Strike out ! Now or never ! Make it short, 
though.” 

Paul made a speech. 

Subsequently, when the first class in geography 
came forward to recite, he found in Sallie Ricker’s 
geography, which he requested for his use in that 
recitation, a report of his address to the school. 
Sallie had set it down on a fly-leaf, adding a few 
personal notes, combining the functions of critic 
and stenographer. 

“ Oh ! there, he’s coughing ! He blushes and is 
going to say something. Hear, ye Romans ! 

“ 4 Scholars, I need not say — I — I am glad to 
see you. I do not doubt you mean to do your best. 
I shall try to do my duty. Think of me as your 
friend — and — and ’ — ^ 

“ He stops and coughs. 

“ It is handy to have a cough. I’ll bring him 
some balsam the next time he is going to air his elo- 
quence. ‘Think of me as your friend!’ ‘Your 
friend ; ’ Amanda Baker will admire that. 


72 


THE FIRST MORNING. 


“ 4 And I shall think of you as my friends. Now 
I would like to have you write your names on a 
slip of paper — your ages, too — that I may record 
them in the register.’ 

“ A nice little speech. 

44 Well done, Mr. Schoolmaster. 

44 Here’s my name : Sarah — no, Sallie Ricker ; 
aged 100, and going to live forever.” 

Paul found Sallie’s geography to be very enter- 
taining reading, and borrowed it as often as pos- 
sible. He obtained many useful hints from it. He 
finally mistrusted, though, that the rosy-cheeked, 
merry-eyed Sallie set down some things for his 
special benefit. 

He was busy with the registration of the schol- 
ars, collecting names and ages as he passed from 
desk to desk, when he heard one of the big girls 
say, in a whisper, 44 Oh ! good ; there she comes ! ” 
This was accompanied by a suppressed titter from 
the big girls’ corner, and at the same time he was 
aware that the entrance door had swung back and 
some one had come in. Then he heard a door 
open into the girls’ waiting-room, and though his 
back was turned, he knew that it must be a female 
scholar who had entered. Still busy with his au- 
tograph collection, he did not look up, but heard a 
soft step in the aisle leading to the corner where 
sat Sallie Ricker and other centenarians. He 
heard a giggle of welcome, and he said to himself, 
44 It is a new scholar, and I will step round and get 


THE FIRST MORNING. 


73 


her name.” He looked up and there was — Alces- 
tis ! Yes, Alcestis ! 

She looked up also. She had one of the unfor- 
getable faces. Her complexion was unusually 
clear and brilliant. A damask rose bloomed in 
each cheek, one of the kind cultivated by the north 
wind in fair youthful faces. Her eyes, though, 
gave her face its greatest beauty. They were of a 
rare, rich blue, such as the sea loves to wear when 
it wishes to tantalize a far-away child of Italy with 
a suggestion of home. 

There had been a suddenly clouded sky the last 
half-hour, and the schoolroom was in shadow, but 
when the schoolmaster caught sight of her fair face, 
it seemed as if a world of sunshine from every quar- 
ter were pressing into the schoolhouse. People 
generally cannot bear the dazzle of the sunshine, 
and it is no wonder that Paul Endicott’s eyes fell 
before this sudden, unexpected, thrilling glance. 
He would have stepped back, not like a king 
marching off to his throne in the corner, but like a 
coward retreating to that protecting pen. He 
saw that it would make any embarrassment more 
conspicuous. He therefore boldly advanced in his 
work of picking up autographs, every moment 
nearing the fascinating, but dreaded occupant of a 
back seat. At last he stood before her. He could 
see her small, but shapely hands. He dared not 
look at her face. He said hesitatingly, yet firmly, 
“ Alcestis, may I trouble you for your name ? ” 


74 


THE FIRST MORNING. 


The next moment he was saying to Paul Endi- 
cott, “ What a fool you are. What did you get off 
then? The nonsense of it!” 

“Your name, p-p-please ? ” said Paul aloud, but 
stammeringly. 

“ What — what did you say, sir? ” was the con- 
fused reply and yet with a slightly faltering accent 
that was almost one of playfulness, as if, conscious 
of a certain feminine power, she was tempted to try 
it on this young master who had asked a strange 
question. 

“Your name, please,” said Paul, with dignity 
and almost sternly. 

“ Oh ! I didn’t understand you. Certainly ! ” 
she replied hastily. 

Then a very pretty hand began to trace the 
name, “ Annie Alton.” 

When Paul saw this, it seemed to him as if he 
caught a glimpse of Will Gaines abruptly appearing 
in his pen over in the corner. He heard Will laugh- 
ing and saying, “ A rock of danger, Annie Alton ! 
Look out ! ” 

It rather bewildered the master. He recovered, 
as he thought, his straying senses, and, stepping to 
his desk, announced, “ The school may have a 
recess.” 

“ Why, Mr. Rendercut, you gave us a recess 
long before it was time ! You are real good,” said 
Sammy Hanscom, the grandchild of the two old 
people with whom Paul boarded. 



HOW THE YOUNGER ONES ENJOYED RECESS 




THE FIRST MORNING. 


75 


“ Isn’t he splendid ? ’Tain’t time for recess bj r 
three quarters of an hour,” one girl was overheard 
to say. 

“Pshaw, Will Gaines!” thought Paul. “An- 
other time, you stay at home. Believe I have not 
recovered my senses.” 

It was not yet ten o’clock in the forenoon. 


CHAPTER VI. 


A GOOD PROSPECT FOR A BAD FIGHT. 

HE first day was laborious, though seemingly 



easy. The most tiresome part of a journey 
may be that which is no part of it — just “ the 
getting ready.” To classify the scholars for their 
recitations was a perplexing duty for the master. 
The favorite arithmetic for that district in those 
days was Greenleaf’s ; the geography, Mitchell’s ; 
the grammar, Wells’ ; the reader, Town’s. But 
these were not the only studies. There were 
classes in Cooper’s Virgil; in Weld’s Latin les- 
sons ; in Davies’ Legendre’s geometry ; in Col- 
burn’s algebra; in Colburn’s mental arithmetic; 
in Worcester’s United States history ; while the 
students of physical geography, natural philosophy 
and astronomy numbered one each. There were 
small fish just learning to swim ; two boys and a 
girl in their A B C’s, as well as big fish in the 
above ostentatious ponds. In all, Paul found that 
he had twenty-five recitations a day. The school 


76 


A GOOD PROSPECT FOR A BAD FIGHT. 77 

was anything but “ graded,” and the motto for all 
students in electing studies, was “ Go — it — as — 
you — please.” Paul was glad to look out of the 
windows and see the sun in the afternoon roll 
westward. 

The view on the east side was quickly hounded 
by a high fence shutting off the schoolyard from 
a garden in which the summer sun coaxed tardy 
pears and cherries to hurry up and ripen. Back 
of the schoolhouse, on the south, the land sloped 
down to the river. All the ground in that direc- 
tion was “yard,” and some anxious mothers had 
had occasion to wish it was “ yard,” and not water, 
all the way to the other side of the valley. On 
the west of the schoolhouse, there was a cornfield 
tufted with a few apple-trees past any special use- 
fulness, and living on the fruitful records of the 
past. Then came a very picturesque scene; the 
river beyond the cornfield, and on a ridge over- 
shadowing the opposite bank, a cemetery. Its 
stillness, the white stones keeping their place day 
after day, summer and winter, were in marked 
contrast with the stir, the restless vitality of this 
wayside school. When he had dismissed his flock, 
letting fall from his shoulders a seemingly immense 
burden, Paul went to the western windows, and 
there in the grateful silence, the restful solitude, 
he looked out. 

The sun was slowly, noiselessly descending the 
sky. It was nearing a range of blue hills. The 


78 A GOOD PROSPECT FOR A BAD FIGHT. 


white snow, the sapphire sweep along the horizon, 
the golden sun, made a wonderful picture. 

“ A beautiful view ! ” exclaimed Paul. “ So 
peaceful ! ” 

Suddenty he looked to the right, his eye follow- 
ing the line of the road winding up over a hill. 

“ Ugh ! ” he exclaimed. That view was any- 
thing but peaceful. He saw a big, stout boy or 
young man, with an awkward, shambling gait, 
moving slowly up the slope of the hill. It was 
William Potwin. When Paul asked for his name, 
he wrote, 44 Bill Potwin,” and he expressed thereby 
his character more accurately than he ever imagined. 

44 1 shall have trouble with that fellow,” said 
Paul, as he watched his clumsy movements in the 
road. 44 1 have my suspicions, any way.” 

His suspicions were not false prophets. When 
the scholars left at the afternoon recess, Paul 
noticed that several of the boys, one after the 
other, sprang into the entry, making a furious 
pound on the floor, and then with a furious shout 
jumped out of doors. At night when school was 
finally dismissed, Paul again heard the pound and 
the shout, and the same set of boys, Bill Pot- 
win among them, executed this disagreeable feat. 

44 Those horrid boys ! They ought to be 
ashamed of themselves,” Paul heard Annie Alton 
remark. 

This sympathy was exceedingly gratifying, and 
it confirmed him in his opinion of the spirit of the 


A GOOD PEOSPECT FOE A BAD FIGHT. T9 


authors of the disturbance. The next day the 
same noises were repeated and by the same 
parties. 

“ I will stop that nonsense,” thought Paul, and 
in a very vigorous style he denounced it and 
forbade it. Still it was continued. The school- 
master was uneasy. The ringleader in this revolt 
against authority was Bill Potwin. 

“ T must have a tussle with that rowdy,” 
thought Paul. Several times, when passing up 
and down the aisle, he silently took the measure 
of Bill’s arms and body, and wondered whether 
master or scholar were stronger. He thought of 
Will Gaines’ tactics, and wished he could repeat 
them. Paul was not as athletic as Will, and yet 
he had creditably developed his strength in the 
rude college gymnasium, consisting of a few ropes 
and “ bars ” in the pines back of the dormitories, 
and he did not, lack the courage necessary to put 
in exercise the strength he did possess. Still he 
did not wish to have that tussle with the Potwin 
muscle. Paul was not combative by nature. His 
temper was pacific. His methods were concilia- 
tory. His battles were for principles. Then he 
could take a stand as firmly as Athanasius when 
he was against the world, and all the world was 
against Athanasius. It might be a very little 
thing involved, but if Paul Endicott’s conscience 
recognized it, he would make it a platform on 
which to stand, little footing as it might give 


80 A GOOD PROSPECT FOR A BAD FIGHT. 

him, and a tornado of opposition could not blow 
him off from his occupied ground. Some of his 
friends thought this emphasis of little things a 
weakness. 

Will Gaines once said to another student, when 
discussing a contemplated course of action at 
college, “ See here, old boy ! Be careful how you 
lay this matter before Paul Endicott. It is a 
trifling matter, any way, and no right or wrong 
about it ; but if he gets the idea that the thing is 
one billionth of an inch out of the way, you might 
as well try to move one of the chapel towers from 
its foundation as to start Paul Endicott. Look 
out ! Go careful, my boy. Don’t run against 
and wake up that Endicott conscience. He loves 
peace, but in a quiet way he can fight longer than 
all the bulls of Bashan coming on one by one. 
Now be careful.” 

Paul had once told Will Gaines that while there 
was “ plenty of stuff in Will to make a martyr out 
of,” there was none of the martyr about him, he 
was sorry to say. 

Will roared out his laughter. Then he shouted : 

“ Martyr ! man alive, you would stand at the 
stake and take a whole roasting without winking 
an eyelid once. They make martyrs of just such 
fellows with a conscience like yours.” 

Paul did not believe him. 

Paul did not now wish to have any fight with 
his boys. Not only his preferences by nature, but 


A GOOD PROSPECT FOR A BAD FIGHT. 81 


his convictions of policy, all resisted any idea of a 
physical struggle even with the scholar that might 
soonest yield. 

And with the strongest, the most stubborn, the 
most leonine, he thought it still less desirable to 
enter into a brutal contest. 

Such gladiatorial combats between master and 
pupil do not have the best influence when public, 
and when private, they may not accomplish what 
the master wants, though he may be victorious in 
the duel. It is the spirit that is to be broken, not 
the body. The latter may be bruised painfully, 
and still the former be unconquered. 

“ What can I do ? ” thought Paul. “ I wish a 
team would come along like that in Will Gaines’ 
case, such as he told me about.” 

No team came along that needed a helping 
hand, and the noise of revolt continued, not in 
school, for that was orderly, but out in the entry 
and on the doorstep. When remonstrated with, 
one culprit said, “ I got into the habit and I can’t 
seem to get out, sir.” He grinned over this 
witticism, and his companions grinned also. 

“ I shall get you, or rather you must get out of 
that habit,” asserted Paul decidedly. “I shall 
demerit you.” 

Demerits did no good. Paul was imitating 
Will Gaines’ system, and some of the boys were 
near the awful dead-line of “twenty-five.” The 
matter troubled Paul more than any of the boys. 


82 A GOOD PROSPECT FOR A BAD FIGHT. 

“ I shall conquer, though,” said Paul, but how, 
without a battle ? 

He again recalled Will Gaines’ tactics, and 
appreciated Will’s point, to impress his scholars 
with such an idea of his physical strength that 
they would mind him. Some people need an 
exhibition of muscle before they make any sub- 
mission of the will. They have no respect for the 
reason of a thing, but they bow to a strong arm, 
whether reason is behind it or not. Paul’s mind 
was working intensely on the subject of discipline. 
What could be done ? How could he conquer 
without a fight ? At last he said : “ I can try one 
thing, and I will. If it does not succeed, I shall 
roll up my shirt sleeves and pitch in, here in the 
school or anywhere else.” 

He had been throwing an avalanche of demerits 
at the “ pound ” and the “ shout,” out in the 
entry, but the culprits, though overwhelmed with 
“ marks,” wriggled actively under the ruins and were 
undaunted as ever. 

Sallie Picker was not the only big girl who 
turned her textbook into a school register. Paul 
found out one day, when using Annie Alton’s 
arithmetic in a recitation, that here was another 
historian ; a girl that was shy of the master, but 
narrowly watched him, and in her textbooks ex- 
pressed her opinion of him. What would she 
have said, could she have known that the master, 
carelessly handling her arithmetic, chanced to see 




A GOOD PROSPECT FOR A BAD FIGHT. 83 


in the latter part this comment on a very emphatic 
little speech one night? The big girls called him 
“ king,” as in a very decided, positive, sometimes 
magisterial way, Paul would rule his small province. 

“ Our king has made a speech,” wrote Annie, 
“ all about noises some awful boys make out in 
the entry. I don’t blame him. They are bar- 
barians. Well, our king just flashed sparks out of 
his eyes, scowled and roared : ‘ I wish to say the 
noises in the entry must stop. To-morrow I shall 
give something besides marks.’ Then he stopped 
and looked at us. What does he mean? Will he 
4 give ’us — a sleigh ride ? He said he would 
sometime. I think that would make everybody 
good as lambs. O, dear! He says he won’t do 
his marking with a pencil. That means with a 
s-t-i-c-k.” 

After the above speech by Paul, the noises in 
the entry were loud as ever. What he would do 
on the morrow he could not say, unless it would 
be to whip every lawbreaker. Was he ready for 
that? “Yes,” he said grimly, looking out of the 
window. “However, I will try that other plan 
first, if I can catch the parties I want.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


STRATEGY. 


S Paul Endicott after school looked out of 



JL A_ a window, he saw the schoolyard and all 
its contents. 

“ Ah, here are some of the culprits ! ” he ex- 
claimed, seeing several boys clustered together, 
Bill Potwin among them, all busily talking. 
“ They are concocting some mischief, I know. 
Now is the time to try my plan.” 

He turned back to his desk, seized his hat and 
left the schoolhouse. Down the yard he hurried, 
and kindly addressed the conspirators. 

w I am thinking of getting up something for the 
school that I know you will like — a gymnasium ; 
and if you will come over to Captain Hanscom’s, 
I will show you what my idea is. Come right 
over.” 

The boys looked up, and then stared at one 
another. They were not prepared for this. They 
were plotting mischief for the morrow, as this was 


84 


STRATEGY. 


85 


a council of war, called by big Bill Potwin, to 
know what should be done in view of the master’s 
vigorous threat to give something besides marks. 
They all construed the threat as a “ Hoggin’,” and 
each boy there said he wouldn’t be 44 flogged ” ; 
and the others said, 44 If he licks you, he must lick 
me.” But here was the executioner in their midst, 
blandly addressing them, and cordially inviting 
them to come over and see him at his boarding- 
house. They foolishly grinned at one another, 
and then stupidly stuck their hands in their 
pockets. One of the boys, Billy Bates, was 
secretly uneasy about his part in the conspiracy. 
He had taken a stand, and was ashamed to back 
out of it, though in the wrong. He was rather 
pleased to have this opportunity for reconciliation 
with the disobeyed “ king.” 

“ Let’s go, fellers,” he mildly ventured to 
suggest. 

“ Come on ! ” said Jimmy Trefethen, whose 
motive for going did not agree with that of Billy 
Bates. His idea was 44 fun,” and just now the 
stock of that article in the yard was dwindling. 
The line of opposition was breaking. 

44 That’s it, boys; come right along. We will 
have a good time,” said Paul. 44 Come, William.” 

The schoolmaster gently touched Bill Potwin’s 
arm. Bill shrank back as if the executioner had 
laid an ax on his neck. Then he started forward. 
He wanted to show his independence and go alone. 


86 


STRATEGY. 


“ Well-1-1 ! ” he murmured. 

Every boy now shuffled along, though they had 
a confused sense that somebody was getting the 
better of them. Paul kept up a brisk conversation, 
giving them as little time for ugly reflection as 
possible. 

“ A gymnasium will be a splendid thing. 
There,” he said, entering Captain Hanscom’s 
barn, “ I want you to see what I have put up.” 

Paul had shown himself equal to the carpentry 
necessary for the equipment of a small gymnasium. 
There were parallel bars, a horizontal bar, a ladder, 
and a pair of rings to swing by. Out in the yard, 
from a projecting limb of a big oak, hung a rope. 

“ There,” exclaimed the master laying aside his 
shawl, and springing up between the parallel bars, 
“ these are splendid for developing the muscles of 
your arms — and legs, too. Oh! grand for the 
chest.” 

If Paul had had eyes in the back part of his 
head, he would have seen very positive looks of 
admiration following his easy, vigorous, muscular 
movements. When he turned round, the boys 
promptly changed their expression to one of 
unsympathetic regard. Still, they had been 
impressed. 

“ Let me try,” cried Jimmy Trefethen. 

He climbed up between the bars, mounted them, 
and vaulted a few feet, and then down he tumbled, 
amid the jeers and laughter of the group. 


STRATEGY. 


87 


“ Eh,” said Jimmy, rubbing his shins, “ let’s see 
you fellers try. Guess you’ll change your tune.” 

All were eager to try, and all wriggled, and all 
came down, each in turn greeted with noisy, 
sneering laughter. When the master leaped with 
ease and skill along the bars, performing a variety 
of feats on the “ crooked arm,” open expressions of 
praise saluted his ears. 

Paul now put these raw gymnasts through such 
feats as the horizontal bar, the ladder and rings. 
They had begun to rub their twisted muscles and 
show signs of weariness, w T hen Paul said, “ Come 
out into the yard and try the swing-and-jump 
rope.” 

At Bowdoin Paul was one of the best performers 
on a like rope, and seizing this as it dangled from 
the oaken bough, he swung himself backward and 
forward, rising higher and higher each time, and 
finally gave an immense leap, landing safely in the 
soft lap of a big snowdrift. 

“ Splendid, bovs,” said Paul. “ You iust try it. 
Try it, William.” 

He looked at Bill Potwin. 

“There’s a stump for ye,” said Jimmy Tre- 
fethen, who wanted somebody to be as badly hurt 
as he had been. 

Bill did not know about it. He eyed that 
dangling rope suspiciously, as if fearful that it 
might hang him. Still, the feat did not seem 
impossible. 


88 


STRATEGY. 


“You just draw yourself up and let yourself 
down,” he reasoned, “ and jump when you get 
through. Guess I can go it.” 

The business, though, was a novelty, and he felt 
the strain of the previous bar-exercise. He made 
an effort on the rope, but somehow he could not 
handle his arms and legs skillfully when he tried 
to jump, and down he came in a heap. The spec- 
tators roared, and Bill took his ill-success as coolly 
as possible, but there was some concealed warmth 
of feeling. 

“Now, we will take the sand-bag,” said the 
schoolmaster, turning toward the barm vigorously. 
What? They had never heard of a sand-bag. 
This was in the barn-chamber, suspended motion- 
less from a high beam. 

“ This, you see, boys,” explained Paul, “ is to 
develop the muscles of the arm.” 

Here, drawing back his right arm, he gave a 
furious lunge at the bag. “ You can fetch a tre- 
mendous blow if you are used to it,” said Paul. 

“ I shouldn’t want to get before your fist,” 
remarked Jimmy. 

“Well, no,” said Paul carelessly, “I should not 
advise you to get there. Of course it hardens 
your knuckles and develops the fist, but that is 
not my purpose, as I have it for my arms.” 

Here he made the old bag spin about at a lively 
rate, as he sent it creaking this way and that. 
The boys eyed him with wonder. 


STRATEGY. 


89 


“ Try it, boys,” he said. 

They tried it, but one after the other cried, 
“ Ow, Ow ! ” and they were very willing to resign 
this gymnastic pet to its owner. 

“Just magnificent!” said Paul, caressing his 
little toy, and then fetching it a blow as if from a 
battering ram. 

Bill Potwin went home that night as humbled, 
as crest-fallen as if he had been pounded all over, 
then stepped on, and at last thrown on top of a 
dressing heap. He felt somehow that the school- 
master had “ got ahead ” of him. 

The next morning he was sore enough to 
warrant a suspicion that he had been actually 
knocked down, trampled on, and dragged out of 
the schoolhouse. First lessons in gymnastics are 
apt to unpleasantly stretch and weary and inflame 
the muscles. When he and his fellow-conspirators, 
sore about the chest, the legs, and along the arms, 
entered the schoolroom, their teacher was fresh 
and vigorous as one of the old Grecian wrestlers 
at the opening of some memorable Olympic game. 
They were in no condition to resist the authority 
of the tough young teacher. 

“ Had a good time, William, didn’t we, at our 
gymnasium ? ” remarked Paul. “ Come over to- 
night, all hands, and we will organize. I will 
make you keeper, William.” 

Bill stared, and grinned, and clumsily nodded 
his head. The others grinned, and gave a foolish, 


90 


STRATEGY. 


awkward look at one another. The air of yester- 
day’s conspirators was that of defeat, though there 
had been no organized battle. There was no more 
pounding with the feet in the entry, no more 
shouting on the doorstep. Never again did Paul 
make any reference to these noises, for the last 
echo of the rebellious spirit shown in them had 
vanished. It was known throughout the school 
that Bill Potwin had entered the service of the 
schoolmaster as “ keeper ” of the wonderful gym- 
nasium out in “ Cap’n Hanscom’s ” barn. It was 
also rumored abroad — and every girl in Paul Endi- 
cott’s school carefully assisted in the publication 
of the news — that the schoolmaster was a famous 
gymnast ; that he could do unparalleled feats on 
“ the bars,” and could make incredible leaps ; that 
he could dent marvelously his “ sand-bag,” and 
though nobody insulted him by calling him a pugi- 
list, yet everybody thought it would be unwise to 
get in the way of those fists striking out in a 
righteous cause. The big girls were prouder than 
ever of their “ king,” while before the minds of all 
the little boys and girls Paul Endicott rose up as 
the ideal hero that they had been waiting to admire 
and adopt. As long as the world swings about 
the sun, and flesh-and-blood mortals swing with it, 
physical prowess will always be admired. Her- 
cules will never be without his Iolaus. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


A COSEY CHAT. 


HE schoolmaster and his landlady sat alone in 



J- the sheltered sitting-room of the farmhouse. 
The hour seemed to have brought a good omen 
for making certain inquiries about a mysterious 
scholar. The good omen was the simple fact that 
Simon Hanscom was absent, and the coast might be 
considered clear for the making of investigations. 

The subject demanding investigation was “ Al- 
cestis.” Who was she ? Mrs. Hanscom undoubt- 
edly could tell the master. 

Paul’s landlady was in her favorite evening seat, 
a rocking-chair before the tire and near a light 
working-stand. Her short, stubby figure did not 
rise above the back of the rocking-chair. She kept 
her eyes on two objects only. One was her knit- 
ting work in her lap, and the other was the whirl 
of the bright flames in the open fireplace. Two 
objects only ? She sometimes raised her eyes and 
looked at a third object, “ Ajux,” in the person of 


91 


92 


A COSEY CHAT. 


the schoolmaster seated on the other side of the 
fireplace. In just that way, Ajax used to cross 
his legs when sitting before the fire, enjoying its 
warmth and the pictures to be seen in its shining 
and shifting gallery of flame. In just that way, 
Ajax’s hair would wave about his forehead and 
one curl in particular would obstinately hang down 
upon his white brow. Captain Hanscom if cogni- 
zant of it would have forgiven the feeling in his 
wife’s heart, that it was a great comfort to have 
this “ Ajux ” all to herself. 

“ Poor thing ! ” he sometimes said, looking com- 
passionately upon his wife. “ She misses Ajux. 
I must humor her all I can.” 

Gladly to-night would he have staid away still 
longer if aware of the satisfaction his wife was 
taking in that interview in the sitting-room. 

A pause in the conversation was soon broken. 

“ Some very interesting families in this district, 
I think, Mrs. Hanscom,” carelessly remarked the 
schoolmaster beginning at a safe distance from the 
Alton family. Nobody would certainly suspect 
from this start where the hunt for information 
would end. 

“I think so,” replied the old lady, adjusting 
more firmly in her apron-binding the corn-cob that 
steadied her knitting needle. “ I told Simon when 
we came up here that I thought the people were 
as likely folks as you would find in most e’ry place. 
They don’t all agree with me and Simon about 


A COSEY CHAT. 


93 


temp’rance and slav’ry, but we have enough to 
sympathize with us.” 

“ Oh ! ” thought the schoolmaster, “ don’t get 
on those subjects now, good as they may be some- 
times. There is Miles Baker,” he said aloud, “ he 
seems to be an — an — energetic man.” 

“ Yes, Mr. Rendercut though; I don’t allers 
approve of his views on the slav’ry question. Now 
he has said ” — 

“ O, dear ! ” groaned the master inwardly. “ I 
shall never get down to the Altons.” 

He began once more : 

“ Mr. Partridge, the minister, seems to be a nice 
man, Mrs. Hanscom.” 

“ He is that ! ” she replied, suspending her 
work and laying down a huge stocking of the 
exact size of Simon Hanscom’s foot. “ And I am 
not the only one to say it ; he did show true kerrij 
in preachin’ on temp’rance the other Sunday. 
Miles Baker didn’t like it, and they say he was 
real sassy, and ” — 

Paul was now in despair. He had thought of a 
dozen families about whom, in a careless, uncon- 
cerned way, he purposed to ask a few questions. 
These families were the Bakers, Partridges, Smiths 
and others, and his plan was to proceed from 
family to family as they occurred to him, and he 
purposed to end with the Altons about whom he 
could ask all the questions he wished. Circum- 
navigation was his method. The old lady would 


94 


A COSEY CHAT. 


never suspect anything if he thus cautiously ap- 
proached the point upon which he desired infor- 
mation. Suspect ? Why not ask about the Altons 
at once and let his landlady think what she please ? 
The schoolmaster must answer that question. 

Let it be remembered that as Hercules he was 
asking about Alcestis. Not in any way, by look 
or word, had she ever shown at school that she had 
been a fair one in distress and been befriended by 
one Hercules, and Hercules could not understand 
it. He only knew that she did not live on the 
other side of the river, which might seem to make 
the story of the rescue a contradiction, but this 
perplexing location of the heroine in his village 
had given him a very delightful scholar. If a resi- 
dent on the other side, she would have fallen into 
the clutches of “ that Potwin ” whom Hercules be- 
lieved to be worse probably than any Hades 
monster in the original story. How did Alcestis 
make her appearance then in the storm, on the 
other side of the river ? Went there, it will be said; 
but she retreated into a house apparently her home, 
and what house was it ? Who was her companion ? 
What light upon this shadowy mystery could Mrs. 
Hanscom shed ? Paul determined that she should 
tell all she might know if he could only hold her 
thoughts down to the line of investigation he had 
marked out. Luckily for Hercules, the old lady 
went straight to the point that from afar he had 
been aiming at, all this time. 


A COSEY CHAT. 


95 


“ Now there is Jedge Alton,” she said abruptly. 
“ He likes Mr. Partridge’s idees ” — 

“ Whom did you say ? ” asked Paul, catching at 
the word eagerly as a drowning man throws his 
arm about any chance piece of timber coming in 
his way. 

“Jedge Alton; you know him, Mr. Rendercut ?” 

“No; I don’t have the pleasure of his acquaint- 
ance, but an Annie Alton goes to my school,” he 
remarked with great unconcern, picking up a chip 
and throwing it into the fire. “ A good sort of a 
girl, I guess, Mrs. Hanscom.” 

“ Don’t you know more about your scholars than 
that, Mr. Rendercut?” emphatically asked the old 
lady. “ Annie Alton is a dreadful good gal.” 

“ Oh ! O, yes ! I dare say ; I don’t doubt it,” re- 
plied the schoolmaster, delighted to receive this 
testimony. “I — I only speak of her as I happen 
to see her in school.” 

“ And a dreadful pritty gal, Mr. Rendercut,” said 
the old lady, slyly looking at the schoolmaster. 

He was still pitching chips into the fire with a 
careless air as if those at the Alton home were of no 
more consequence to him, from the judge down to 
the house-cat, than so many splinters of wood. 
He wanted to say many things, but he was afraid 
to drop even a word for fear that its weight would 
break the slender thread of interest attaching the 
old lady to this subject and she suddenly fly off to 
something else. 


$6 


A COSEY CHAT. 


“ When Ajux went to the school here, he used 
to say it was jest a treat to look at Annie, and — 
but there, I don’t s’pose it ever could have been ; 
no, never,” said the old lady mournfully. 

She was right. The paths of Annie and Ajax 
could not have come together, had he never gone 
away, and yet the possibility of juncture was a 
fancy that the old lady liked to cherish. No fear 
now that she would digress, for the schoolmaster 
soon found out that this was a treasured thought 
in the motherly heart of his landlady. Like one 
who visits a casket of jewels at times to open it 
and watch with enraptured eyes its brilliant flashes 
of light, so Samantha Hanscom would fondly recall 
her darling boy’s interest in the prettiest, brightest 
girl in all the village. While the schoolmaster 
asked his questions, she was not only answering 
them, but feasting her pride and love on the old 
thought of the possible combination of those two 
names, Ajax and Annie, in a very sacred relation- 
ship. 

“ Indeed,” said the schoolmaster, replying to the 
old lady’s last utterance as unconcernedly as pos- 
sible. “ I dare say, I dare say.” 

Having paid his respects to that combination of 
Ajax and Annie, he carelessly inquired, “ The Al- 
tons live down below the village ? ” 

“ Jest in the lower part of it, Mr. Rendercut ; 
and you ought to see it. It’s a beautiful house ; 
cost a pile of money, they say, in the days of it, 


A COSEY CHAT. 


97 


but it is old-fashioned now. I’ve been all over it. 
Aunt M’ri’ now would ” — 

“ Who, Mrs. Hanscom ? ” 

“ Aunt M’ri.’ ” 

This was a contraction for Maria. 

“ She keeps house for Jedge Alton, and a very- 
good woman too. She is his sister.” 

“ Then Mrs. Alton is dead ? ” 

“ O, yes ! years ago.” 

“ Well,” said Hercules, “ how is it they come on 
this side of the river ? ” 

“ Who?” 

“The Altons.” 

“ Why, they can’t help themselves very well,” 
said the old lady, wondering why Paul did not see 
the reason as readily as she. “ Their house is here.” 

“ Well, then, how did Annie come over there ? ” 
cried the persistent Hercules. 

u Don’t know, unless she walked there,” said his 
landlady, grinning, and wondering what the school- 
master could possibly mean. 

“ O, yes — yes ! ” he said sheepishly, glancing at 
the fire, not daring to face Mrs. Hanscom’s curious 
eyes. “Well — well — are there no other mem- 
bers of the family ? ” 

“ Only Annie’s sister, and she is away at school. 
Haven’t seen her for a long time.” 

“Well — well — who lives on the other side of 
the river — over by the 4 corners’ ? ” 

“ Oh ! several families, and ” — She stopped and 


98 


A COSEY CHAT. 


looked intently at him. “ Hain’t you been 
a-workin’ too hard, and don’t you need suthin to 
take ? ” she asked solicitously. 

Paul laughed, and finishing one peal, rang out 
another. 

“I — I — don’t wonder you say that. I imagine 
my questions are very strange, but I had some 
reason to believe the Altons lived on the other side 
of the river.” 

“ Not sence I have lived here.” 

“ I see ; then I must have been mistaken. Well, 
after you leave the 4 corners ’ there is a road turn- 
ing off, and a family lives on it, don’t they ? ” 

“ O, yes ! I guess you mean the Goodwins or 
the Ro weses or the Smiths, or — or” — 

Paul was alarmed. He was losing the trail. 

“Are they, any of them, relatives of Judge 
Alton ? ” he asked abruptly. 

“Not in the least. I s’pose you mean, do they 
visit?” 

“ Yes, ma’am.” 

“ Not in the least. The Altons don’t have 
nothin’ to do with the Grahams, the fust neigh- 
bors, though they feel friendly, I s’pose, but don’t 
visit.” 

This puzzled Paul. Things now seemed to be 
tied up in -a knot. It might not be of the Gordian 
kind, untyable, but that night Paul’s fingers were 
too clumsy, he feared, for this work. 

What next ? 


A COSEY CHAT. 


99 


He was at a loss what to do or say. 

“ C-c-can Annie drive a horse ? ” he asked wildly, 
desperately. 

“Drive what, Mr. Rendercut?” 

“Oh! ahorse?” 

“ Hoss ? I should hope so, a gal brought up in 
the country.” 

She scrutinized his face closely. She was 
strongly convinced that the schoolmaster was not 
“jest right in his mind.” 

He was almost hopeless now. He resolved to 
make one more effort, foolish as it might seem, 
and though the old lady might set him down as 
demented. 

“Well, you know,* Mrs. Hanscom, it was a 
stormy night when I came to town. I think I met 
Annie Alton riding in a sleigh, and she Was driv- 
ing the horse, and a man was with her ” — 

“ A man? Now I can set your mind to rest on 
that subject. Simon was down at the jedge’s that 
very day on some business, and Annie was in doors 
with a sore throat. There ! ” 

This threw Hercules into such bewilderment 
that for some time he said not a word. An attack 
from Cerberus himself would have been less dam- 
aging. Whom, then, had the traveler in the snow 
met that night? Was it all a myth, a mist-story, 
as much so as the original tale about one Hercules 
and one Alcestis ? Did Paul himself come on foot 
that night ? Did not Levi Green, after all, bring 


100 


A COSEY CHAT. 


him in his stage to the village? Was that rescue 
anything more than a dream, Paul having fallen 
asleep during his cold, rough, stupid ride in Levi’s 
ancient ark? Were the lighted windows of a 
mysterious farmhouse anything more than the 
phantom-glare of Paul’s imagination? 

But if he came in the stage, how did he lose his 
carpet-bag? No ; he did come afoot. 

“ Yes, afoot ! ” he murmured, gazing at the fire, 
the old lady eying him in wonder. 

But if afoot, why was Alcestis such a riddle ? 
Whose eyes had he seen if not those of his scholar 
who sat daily on the back seat? 

“ Yes, afoot ! ” he dreamily muttered again. 
But was it not a walk through magic-land, and 
were not the eyes of Alcestis merely the mystic 
flashes of light darting out of a fairy face, a face 
all beauty, but in a realm all evanescent and 
weird and ghostly, a land struck on the edge of 
night ? 

“ That can’t be. I did see and I did help some- 
body,” Hercules said to himself dreamily. 

While he was busily thinking, his landlady was 
watching him. 

So intent and close was her inspection of his 
face, her cogitations upon his strange utterances 
were so absorbing, that she unconsciously dropped 
several stitches in Simon’s huge hose. For such 
an experienced knitter, her needles were turning 
out very awkward work. 


A COSEY CHAT. 


101 


“Now, see here,” she said, making a silent, sober 
appeal to herself, “ I do believe our schoolmaster is 
a-gittin’ interested in Annie. Jnst like Ajux more 
and more, poor man! And he is a-workin’ too 
<hard with all his notionses and idees for the school. 
I’m dreadful afraid he’ll break down.” 

But Paul was speaking, though he had resolved 
upon silence. The subject fascinated him, and he 
began again. 

“Well, Annie’s father, the man she rode with, 
may be about — about — thirty-five, say ? He don’t 
drink, does he ? ” 

“ Land sake ! More’n thirty-five now ! ” said the 
old lady, giving a little jump in her comfortable 
chair, and wondering what he could mean. “ And 
didn’t I say he was great on temp’rance ? Drink ? 
Never, ’less it is water.” 

The bewildered master smiled, remarked ab- 
stractedly that he was tired and he “guessed” 
he would go to his room. 

He rose from his seat before the open fire and 
went upstairs. 

“ I have made a fool of myself about long 
enough,” he told himself. 

He had been in his room only a few minutes 
when a knock at the door led him to open it. 
There was the short, fat figure of his landlady. 
In one hand she carried a pitcher of hot water and 
in the other a bowl of steaming dark liquid. 

The moment he saw the old lady, Paul began to 


102 


A COSEY CHAT. 


recall the puzzling subject of the late conversa- 
tion, and his thoughts would wander off. 

He hardly heard her say, “ I didn’t know but 
one would be good for your feet and the other you 
could drink, some thoroughwort.” 

Vacantly he replied: 

“ Begin with the bowl and put my feet in that — 
oh ! ” he exclaimed, recalling his fugitive thoughts, 
“ I beg j^our pardon ” — 

“ Mr. Rendercut ! ” said the old lady solemnly, 
a look of alarm agitating her eyes, “ are — are you 
jest right ? ” 

“ I hope so — ha-ha ! I am well enough, only I 
am thinking about a confusing subject. You will 
excuse it. Why, you are real kind. You are just 
like — just like a mother, Mrs. Hanscom. I am 
very, very much obliged.” 

He gently laid his hand on her shoulder and 
bowed. 

That touched the old lady. The tears sparkled 
in her eyes, and the under lip quivered. 

“ You didn’t seem jest well, and made me think 
how sometimes my Ajux ” — 

She could say no more, but lowering her head 
and hiding her brimming eyes, she quickly left 
the room. The schoolmaster had thought of look- 
ing round for a pillow, a chair-cushion, a handker- 
chief — something with which he might smother 
his laughter, but this allusion to the poor boy who 
had sailed away over the deep, dark sea, stopped 


A COSEY CHAT. 


108 


his mirth, and soberly he took up the pitcher and 
the bowl. 

“ Oh ! what a fool I was. I have made that poor 
old lady all this trouble. Acted like a bewildered 
booby, and she thought I was sick. I feel like 
pouring one into the slop-jar and the other out of 
the window. But that won’t do! She will ask 
me in the morning how these things worked, and 
I must do something with them.” 

He applied the hot water to his feet, shrieking, 
“Ow — hot ! That will take the nonsense out of 
me.” 

He took a mouthful of the bitter herb tea, and 
threw the balance out of a window that he raised. 
“ I am cured,” he said. He lingered here to watch 
the landscape flashing in the white December moon. 
The crystals of the snow sent a vivid flash up to 
the sky that seemed to glitter with other crystals. 
The stars were only the frost on cold, blue win- 
dow-panes in the heavens. Paul could look 
through an opening in the row of houses and trees 
across the frozen river, and he wondered whether he 
were looking in the direction of his m} T sterious 
rescue of a fair, young female. 

“ If I had my valise downstairs,” thought the 
bewildered schoolmaster, “ I should say the affair 
was all a fancy. Well, the mystery will be solved 
some time. I think I will go to bed.” 

He betook himself to that house of refuge amid 
all our troubles, Sleep. Here the kindly genius 


104 


A COSEY CHAT. 


of this lodging-place for perplexed pedagogues, 
brought out its softest pillows, its easiest mat- 
tresses, its most drowsy balm, and haying given 
the old-fashioned schoolmaster a deep, delicious, 
harmless draught of its nepenthe, it hereby granted 
him refreshing relief from all bewildering theories 
and all impossible fancies. 


CHAPTER IX. 


HELP FOR SLAVE BEN. 


S OMEBODY else had been watching the moon- 
light, facing, too, that very same river, look- 
ing beyond it to the great, dark ridges of forest- 
trees swelling up toward the cold winter sky. It 
was a young girl almost sixteen. She was not 
thinking upon any rescue from troublesome snow- 
drifts, and yet her mind was upon the school- 
master. It may have been a case of mutual, men- 
tal attraction where, through some subtle law of 
magnetism whose fine lines of influence stretched 
across any separation, one soul was working upon 
another. Whether any such law was in operation 
I do not affirm. The fact remained the same ; the 
master and his scholar were thinking about each 
other, though in a very different way. While 
Annie Alton’s rich, deep eyes of azure flashed 
toward the sk} r , sparkles bright as any flashing 
down from it, her thoughts staid on the earth, as 
we shall soon see. 


» 


105 


106 


HELP FOR SLAVE BEN. 


The Alton home was delightfully located at the 
lower end of the village. It stood on the crest of 
an elevation of land gently sloping back from the 
river bank. Between the bank and the lawn be- 
fore the house stretched the road, so that from the 
sunny dining-room and parlor one could look upon 
the straggling procession of teams and pedestrians 
moving to and from the village. On either side of 
this lawn a carriage-way wound from the road up 
to the house, and along these carriage-ways were 
ranged rows of musically echoing pines. The 
house was a brown mansion of wood, and there 
stretched in front a piazza, over whose roof climbed 
an ambitious creeper. The rooms were low-storied 
and many-windowed. This gave to the house the 
look of a collection of nests. High-storied rooms 
with so much space above may be convenient for 
very tall creatures, but low-stature folks look 
diminutive ; as if out of doors and near a lofty 
forest wall. Such rooms are not cosey. 

At either corner of the house rose a big Ameri- 
can elm, the long branches gracefully dropping 
down toward the home and overshadowing it. 
They stood like sentinels to guard the house. At 
night they stretched up tall and shadowy, and it 
seemed as if two mighty angels must have halted 
in their journeyings, and in constant benediction 
made an arch with their great wings, silently steal- 
ing away at dawn and leaving only two American 
elms there by the house. 


HELP FOR SLAVE BEN. 


107 


When the June grass spread over the lawn its 
carpet of velvety green, and the elms were in their 
brightest emerald robes, every passing villager 
directed looks of admiration toward Judge Alton’s 
“ place.” In winter Jack Frost coated the lawn 
with ermine to which the pines gave a border of 
green. The view in winter was fully as pictur- 
esque as in summer, while the two big chimneys 
flying light, graceful pennants of smoke, suggested 
endless resources of warmth and comfort within 
the walls of this old mansion. 

Judge Rodney Alton, the owner of this property, 
was a gentleman of fifty-five, in robust health, 
with a rather tall, martial figure, and a prompt, 
positive, military air. He had never been a soldier, 
and yet a certain force of good judgment, ready 
resources and decisiveness made him a natural 
leader, and accounted for his air of command. It 
was not a disagreeable atmosphere of imperious- 
ness that encompassed him. He had a very sym- 
pathetic nature, and people felt sure that they 
brought their troubles to a hospitable breast when 
they consulted him, and also to one whose goodj 
sense and executive force would get them out of 
their troubles. He had been judge once of a 
probate court, but left the court-room to care for 
his great farm and a big venture in the lumber 
trade. Aunt Maria Alton, the judge’s unmarried 
sister, was his housekeeper. She had her brother’s 
energy, a very sunny temperament, and a relish 


108 


HELP FOR SLAVE BEN. 


for the humorous features of life. She was a dozen 
years younger than the judge. 

Besides Annie Alton there was a daughter 
Alice. She was eighteen and now at school in a 
neighboring town. In the kitchen was an old 
domestic, Abigail Dow. In a farmhouse back of 
jthe mansion lived a colored couple, Pete and Eliza. 
They had been free blacks in the South. Making 
their way North, one tiresome day, they and their 
baby Fairfax halted outside of Judge Alton’s door. 
The judge sheltered them in the farmhouse, gave 
Pete work about the farm, and gradually promoted 
him in service until he had charge of many details 
of farm work. He was active and intelligent, and 
loyally served the judge’s interests. Eliza was 
a good-natured, laughing negress, Fairfax was a 
bright lad in Paul Endicott’s school. 

Two evenings before the simultaneous look that 
the schoolmaster and Annie directed toward the 
winter moon, a letter had come to Pete. It was 
sent by a colored man off in the woods, living in 
a lumber camp that Judge Alton owned. The 
man’s name was “ Mose Smith.” He and his wife 
Pomona were free blacks, old friends of Pete, and 
the judge had allowed Mose to live there for the 
winter, and had paid him for any wood he might 
cut. This Mose had a brother Ben in the South 
who was a slave, but trying to buy his freedom. 
The letter to Pete was written by a hunter who 
happened along, and, entertained over night in the 


HELP FOR SLAVE BEN. 


109 


judge’s lumber camp, he made partial payment for 
his lodgings with the writing of this letter. It 
was very brief, and said that the slave Ben had 
been heard from. He was trying hard to get his 
freedom, and if friends could help, there would be 
no happier black man than Ben, the poor slave. 

“ Here it is, yer see,” said Eliza to Annie, who 
chanced to come out into the farmhouse, “ here is 
dis yer letter ! Pete ken read, yer see, an’ it is 
all about Ben’s gittin’ ob his freedom. I dunno, 
but I fought ef we might scare up — any — ting 
oh ! — any ting, it would all help.” 

Eliza was a fat, laughing, jolly woman with a 
gait like the roll of a hogshead. She showed two 
wide, shining rows of teeth when she laughed. 
She now waddled over the floor to Annie’s chair 
and held out the letter for inspection. 

“ I see,” said Annie examining it, “ and I will 
ask the folks about it.” 

“ Yer drefful good, honey. I ’spects ef you do 
dat, ’twill be heard from.” 

This needy case was discussed at the supper table. 

“It does seem,” said Judge Rodney Alton in 
his prompt, positive way, “ as if we ought to do 
something. The thing is how.” 

“ So I think,” remarked Aunt Maria, her hand 
with its cup of tea halting on its way to her 
mouth. “ It does seem as if we ought to do some- 
thing, but the point is how. However, where 
there is a will, there is always a way.” 


110 


HELP FOR SLAVE BEN. 


“ That certainly is cheering, Maria, and it has 
got more than one fellow out of the woods.” 

Annie here spoke, hesitatingly though, looking 
first at her father and then at Aunt Maria, like 
one feeling her way in a passage where the light 
is scanty. “I think — if — you — could use our 
parlors — we might get — up — an entertainment 
— and I’ll do — the work.” 

“ So we could, Maria, couldn’t we ? ” replied the 
judge at once. 

“ I think so,” added Aunt Maria. Annie was 
delighted, and volubly rattled off a list of attrac- 
tions “ we could have singing and tableaux and 
recitations ” — 

“And if we could get a little outside talent, 
Annie,” suggested the judge. “ I mean help from 
out of town.” 

“ Could — could you get it, pa ? ” 

“ Ha, ha ! Who was going to do the work ? ” 

“ I meant ” — 

“No, no, daughter; I guess you would be the 
one.” 

Annie appealingly turned her blue eyes toward 
Aunt Maria. 

“ Don’t ask me, Annie. I’ll get the parlors 
ready for the entertainment and clean them after- 
wards,” said Aunt Maria. “ That will be my 
share.” 

“ And I’ll put my horses at your disposal to 
bring distinguished artistic talent ” — 


HELP FOR SLAVE BEN. 


Ill 


64 But do help, if you have a chance to engage 
anybody, pa.” 

44 1 will, Annie, I will certainly ; only I don’t see 
my way clear to get up the entertainment and be 
responsible for it. I will certainly help where 
I can.” 

Standing at night by her chamber window, look- 
ing out on the silent, sparkling landscape of crystal, 
Annie thought about the entertainment, and won- 
dered what 44 outside talent ” she could possibly 
engage. 

44 Oh ! there is the master. He is outside talent. 
He does not belong here. Everybody would like 
to hear him give a recitation, a reading, or — or 
— anything. It would make tickets sell. Oh! 
wouldn’t it be a draw ! ” thought Annie. 44 Only, 
there is the asking. I must ask him, or somebody 
must, and I don’t want to do it. Perhaps now if 
I should just speak to him about an entertainment 
coming off, he might say considerately, 4 If I can 
be of any assistance, Miss Alton, let me know.’ 
If I should spread that trap, he might kindly walk 
into it. That would save me a lot of embarrass- 
ment. Now if I were a little girl I don’t suppose 
I should hesitate to walk up to him and say, 4 O, 
Mr. Endicott ! please read for us at our entertain- 
ment.’ However, I am not, and I hate to ask 
him right out.” 

As she was a 44 big girl ” and at school sat on 
44 the back seat,” it made a difference. So she con- 


112 


HELP FOR SLAVE BEN. 


tinued to look out of the window, watched a very 
filmy cloud try to throw a white scarf about the 
moon’s bare, cold shoulders, and also meditated 
on that serious problem how to secure talent for 
the proposed entertainment. 

“ Then I suppose we must have something hu- 
morous,” thought Annie, “ and what shall that be ? 
Oh! we must have something to make people 
laugh, but what ? ” 

Annie was now in her element. She was very 
sensitive to the humorous side of life. Her fond- 
ness for humor made her a puzzle to the majority 
of people. She had a large, generous nature. All 
the world ,t)f being, man-being and animal-being, 
interested her exceedingly. Her sympathies went 
out to all things that had an existence. The birds 
in the forests, the cows in the pasture, the horses 
in the -great barn, the old folks in the village as 
well as the young folks, the beggar that might be 
crawling by and the beggar that stopped at the 
door, the blacks down South and the particular 
blacks out in the farmhouse and those off in the 
lumber camp, all interested Annie. Her philan- 
thropy was a deep, ever-running fountain, and was 
it not Annie that suggested an entertainment for 
Ben ? But there was her enjoyment of the humor- 
ous element in life, and that was a deep fountain also. 
She was sure to see the comic side of any event. 
Did she not lift her eyes in the wide village street 
one day and see poor old Reuben Robbins hob- 


HELP FOR SLAVE BEN. 


113 


bling down that highway ? She not only saw his 
wooden leg and pitied him profoundly, but she 
noticed that somebody had pinned several bright 
rags to his coat-skirts, and thus fringed with the 
sunrise, Reuben unconsciously hobbled away. 
Annie wanted to strip him of his colors, but she 
could not do it and still retain a calm, composed 
face. 

“ Oh ! ” she said, but she laughed merrily as she 
said it, “ just stop and let me take those things off, 
Mr. Robbins. There ! now it is all right.” Reu- 
ben growled “ Thank ye ! ” but Annie saw that he 
detected her merriment and was hurt thereby. 

“ O, dear ! ” she murmured, as she left him in the 
rear, “ wish I didn’t laugh so easily. Now if I 
had had Sallie Ricker’s control of her face muscles, 
I could have whisked those rags off and kept my 
face sober, and Reuben would not have been 
affronted. As it is, he is grieved and I am sorry.” 

Yes, grieved. He went away saying, “ That gal 
is purty, but I don’t know what to make of her. 
She is kind, but she laughs at people.” 

Unfortunate Annie ! Nobody more than Annie 
Alton regretted this vulnerability, this openness to 
any attack upon the side of her susceptibility to 
the ludicrous. A building to be judged fairly 
must be seen from a particular spot. Hills have 
their view points. The mountain-top, cloud- 
wrapped, that to the spectator, rightly located, at 
dawn rises like an altar with flames kindled by the 


114 


HELP FOR SLAVE BEN. 


sun, may become to another watcher only a very 
prosy jumble of rock and earth, dark pines and 
cold fog. Character has its view point. To judge 
Annie Alton fairly, one needed to go round to 
that corner where her love of all living kind joined 
on to a keen, droll appreciation of their follies. 
Otherwise, those who saw only the latter pecu- 
liarity, might classify Annie as “ heartless,” “ in- 
sincere,” “ trifling.” 

There were two people who did thoroughly 
understand Annie ; who knew that Annie had a 
large fund of sincerity and heart. Those two, for- 
tunately, were her father and Aunt Maria. When 
home misunderstands us, the universe is dark, and 
cosmos threatens to become chaos. 

The schoolmaster did not appreciate Annie 
Alton’s peculiarities. 

“ A very pretty girl,” was his opinion, “ and a 
very warm-hearted girl I think she is at times, and 
then again I don’t know what to make of her. 
She seems to like her teacher, is kindly disposed, 
and is a great favorite in her 4 set,’ as they say. 
I hear her chattering away, laughing among those 
who laugh loudest and oftenest, and I know she 
laughs about her teacher sometimes. Saw her 
geography the other day, and she had scribbled 
something about me. If it were not mean, I 
should like to go through the books in her desk, 
and see what she has said about her teacher. Yes ; 
she is a puzzle. Then there is that affair of the 


HELP FOR SLAVE BEN. 


115 


night when I came to town. She has not given 
the least sign that the young lady I helped was 
Annie Alton. 

“Had her eyes — yes, her very eyes* No; I 
don’t understand Annie. Yes ; she is a puzzle. 
Can’t help liking the girl in spite of it all. She is 
pretty and, as Simon Hanscom says, clever.” 

A very interesting puzzle, Sir Master. People 
generally are interested in puzzles, and yours is a 
growing curiosity, if you only knew it. 

Annie herself had a puzzle this moon-lighted, 
winter night, which she studiously strove to solve 
— how to get upon the programme of the expected 
entertainment the schoolmaster, that “ outside 
talent.” 

How could she approach him upon the subject, 
and when had she better approach him ? How 
could she open the matter and start the very first 
sentence of her proposition? 

After this first sentence, what would she advise 
as the second ? The subject of methods loomed 
up into prominence. That of possible embarrass- 
ments made the whole question interestingly ludi- 
crous. As Annie looked from the frosty landscape 
up to the cold, blue sky, it seemed to her as if she 
examined all the stars in the constellation of 
Orion while meditating on the subject of methods. 

She looked from his shining shoulders down to 
his jeweled belt, and numbered all the gems there. 
She went all over that diamond-studded form, and 


116 


HELP FOR SLAVE BEN. 


counted every sparkle. She even noticed and 
admired the hunter’s big dog Sirius, who for ages 
has been springing away before him, and yet has 
apparently never gained a single inch in this star- 
lighted hunt. 

And she, in her hunt for a trail that would bring 
her to her desired game, had made as little prog- 
ress. She was still at a loss to know how to ask 
this simple question: “Will you be so kind, Mr. 
Endicott, as to read at our entertainment in behalf 
of a poor slave who wants to buy his freedom ? ” 

Puzzled, she left Orion to chase his golden game 
through the celestial forests, and like the school- 
master that night, she sunk herself and her oppres- 
sive cares in the depths of forgetful slumber. 


CHAPTER X. 

THE CAMP IN THE WOODS. 

6 6 T THINK, Maria,” said Judge Alton, “I will 
make a call at the lumber camp to-day. 
You know I must go off to the woods any way, 
and I can digress and see Mose and Pomona, and 
find out about that slave we want to help.” 

This was said at the breakfast table the next 
morning. 

“ I would, Rodney,” replied Aunt Maria. 

“Oh! yes, pa,” said Annie. “You may get 
some ideas for the entertainment.” 

“ If I do, Annie, you and the schoolmaster must 
work them up.” 

It was pleasant to have her name and the 
schoolmaster’s associated together, and convenient 
also to drop her eyes as the judge and Aunt Maria 
looked at her. 

“And I think,” added her father, “ I will go 
down with Levi Green, the stage driver. Pete 
tells me the horse I want from our stable is lame.” 


117 


118 


THE CAMP IN THE WOODS. 


“With Levi?” asked Aunt Maria looking at 
the clock. “ Levi will be along at quarter of 
eight. Hadn't you better be hurrying ? ” 

“ Oh ! I have time enough,” said the judge, with 
that confident air so customary in people who are 
generally the superiors of emergencies. At the 
same time he glanced out of the window, and 
looked through a break in the trees near the 
house, a lookout that gave him a view of the road 
in the direction of the village. - “ Can’t see Levi 
yet.” 

“ Better be hurrying, pa,” cautioned Annie. 
“ Time for Levi.” 

“ Oh ! I am all right,” replied the confident 
parent, still chatting away and lingering at the 
table. 

“Excuse me, Rodney. Won’t you be left?” 
Aunt Maria soon ventured to remark. 

“ Oh ! I will get there, Maria.” 

“When Levi has gone, do you mean, Rodney?” 

“ Oh ! pa, pa,” cried Annie, “ Levi is coming ! ” 

“ What ! what ! ” said her father, springing up. 
“ Where are my boots, my coat, my — my ” — 

All three went flying from the breakfast table to 
get the judge’s equipments together, and somehow 
he got them on, though he went off buttoning his 
overcoat, drawing on his gloves, and adjusting his 
hat. Then down across the lawn he went, making 
his way over the stiffened crust, falling once, but 
rising, shouting at Levi and finally stopping him. 


THE CAMP IN THE WOODS. 


119 


Aunt Maria and Annie looked out of the win- 
dow, and, laughing, watched his departure. 

“Just like Rodney. However, he will catch 
Levi. Always does come out ahead, though he 
sometimes runs for it,” said his sister. “A kind 
of big boy.” 

She said it in pride and affection, for her 
brother’s energy was a conspicuous trait, and 
saved him in places where others would have 
failed. A certain boyish frankness and enthu- 
siasm in his nature, keeping him young, not only 
interested his sister, but his daughter. 

“ I like big boys,” said Annie. 

The judge was now in the road. 

“ Goin’ with me, Jedge?” said Levi, pulling in 
his horses. 

“ Yes ; far as my woods where the camp is, you 
know.” 

“ O, yes ! Glad to have you. Got only a sleigh 
this morning; goin’ is sort of bad, you know.” 

“All right! Drive on. Oh ! hold on a minute. 
Somebody wants to speak to me.” 

He now began to wish he had taken more time, 
as people in a hurry generally conclude, for just 
ahead was a shabbily dressed traveler, who, halt- 
ing, touched his hat, and acted like a man who 
wanted to say something. The judge knew at the 
same time that Levi did not want to stop. 

“ Just one minute, Levi, please. Here is a man 
who wants to say something to me.” 


120 


THE CAMP IN THE WOODS. 


“ Got one minute,” said Levi significantly. 
“ Whoa, there, Betsey and Nan ! ” 

“ I don’t like the looks of that fellow,” thought 
the judge, eying the man sharply, and giving the 
case an instant and unfavorable verdict. 

He was a roughly-dressed man, with a rough, 
black beard, and an evil light danced in his dark 
eyes as he spoke to Judge Alton. 

“ Don’t you want another hand in your lumber 
camp ? ” asked the man. 

“ Not in my camp, for it is occupied,” said 
the judge. “ I am not cutting much wood this 
winter. Expect to do a good deal next winter.” 

“Not particular ’bout bein’ in the camp. Fact 
is, I’d rather not ” — 

“ Quiet a minute, Betsey,” Levi was saying in a 
voice low and yet audible. 

“Well,” said the judge, “I doubt if I have a 
job for you. If you’ll call round to-morrow 
forenoon, I will think it over; I’m in a hurry 
now.” 

“ Git up there, Betsey ; up, Nan, ” said Levi 
promptly, and the man was left behind. He 
watched the receding team, and especially did his 
eyes rest upon the judge, bundled up in his warm 
fur coat and holding his head erect. 

“ Couldn’t give me a job,” said the man. “ He 
can favor those niggers over in his woods. If I 
had been a nigger, he would have set me to work 
pretty quick. Why didn’t I black my face, and 


THE CAMP IN THE WOODS. 


121 


come along with a stick over my shoulder, and 
some rags slung over it, and say I came from the 
South? He would have listened to that lie 
quicker than he could wink. O, no ! he wouldn’t 
have turned me off then.” 

The man was probably correct. The judge had 
a very tender heart, and a black face and a pack 
over the shoulder would have enlisted his sympa- 
thies at once. 

“ I won’t go near ye to-morrer,” the man in the 
road continued to soliloquize. “ He’d run after me 
if I was a nigger. Wouldn’t need to go near him. 
Here I’ve been over to the lumber camp and gittin’ 
back he says, ‘Come to-morrer.’ I won’t come 
to-morrer, and I s’pose a nigger will have my 
chance. They’re welcome to it, but I’ll be even 
with ’em yet, and all the dirty, lazy race.” 

The sleigh here turned a corner in the wood. 
The notes of the bells died down to a soft echo 
that vanished as completely as the smoke from 
Judge Alton’s chimneys. The man concluded to 
vanish also, and passed along to the village. 

“Who was that, Levi? ” asked Judge Alton. 

“ A man they call Carberry Boyd ; yes, that’s it, 
I think — Carberry Boyd,” said Levi in his nasal 
tones. “ He’s ben a-hangin’ round here some time. 
Wants a job, don’t he ? ” 

“ Seems to, Levi. I think I must scare him up 
one if I can. I daresay when he comes to-morrow 
I shall have something.” 


122 


THE CAMP IN THE WOODS. 


“ That’s good in you, Jedge.” 

“ Oh ! no special goodness. There is work to 
be done, and Pete can’t do it all, you know. So I 
am glad to give a poor fellow a chance. What is 
the news, Levi ? ” 

“ Oh ! I dunno, Jedge. Allers a suthin’, you 
know. Winter has sot in, and what I call winter- 
institutions have started up — schools, you know, 
and so on.” 

“ Who keeps on the other side ? ” 

“ Oh ! Potwin, of course, and rules ’em with a 
rod of iron ; yes, he does.” 

“ How is the teacher doing on our side, would 
you say ? ” 

“Oh! that Endercut? He’s a-handlin’ ’em. 
Folks are smilin’ ’bout the way he got round his 
big boys.” 

“How so ? ” 

“ Why, some of them — Bill Potwin and others 
— were a-spilin’ to do suthin’, and they were 
cavortin’ round in the entry and a-hollerin,’ and 
what did he do, rather than have an open fuss 
with ’em, but take ’em over to his Jim — some- 
body — Jim-my-na ” — 

“ Gymnasium ? ” 

“That’s the feller — Jimnazhon; and he per- 
formed on it so ’stonishin’ly that it took all the 
breath out of ’em, and they concluded he must be 
somebody, and they jest shet down on all their 
deviltry, and were quiet as kittens. As for Bill, 


THE CAMP IN THE WOODS. 


123 ' 


he was made keeper of the Jimmy-thing — so they' 
say up at the tavern — and he is jest like pie now, 
good as a kitten.” 

“ That was what you would call a flank move- 
ment.” 

44 Yes ; a demonstratum is my name for it,” 
declared Levi complacently, glad to show Judge 
Alton that he did not have the proprietorship of 
all the big words in the dictionary. 44 Yes, a 
demonstratum. Now some folks up at the tavern 
think they wouldn’t have come down to the scamps, 
but gi’n it to 'em right and left. I dunno. I sort 
of think Endercut fixt ’em.” 

“Well, Levi, I have lived long enough to see 
something of the world, to know what it needs 
and what is good for it. If- we must fight, why, 
we will fight. If we can avoid it and conquer in 
some other way, it is far better. A good general 
prefers to accomplish his point by strategy rather 
than by actual blows. As for school-keeping, 
fighting there is out of place. I don’t send my 
daughter to school to witness any fighting exhi- 
bitions ” — 

44 Oh ! your Annie ? I forgot her.” 

44 But she isn’t the only one. There are many 
little girls as well as big girls there, and they 
ought not to witness any battles. It does no good 
to the boys who witness such exhibitions. If 
punishment is of a corporal nature ” — 

44 A — what, Jedge ? ” 


124 


THE CAMP IN THE WOODS. 


“ Corporal ” — 

“ Ezackly. I had a brother once who was a cor- 
p’ral, and he gi’n it to ’em good. ’Twas in the 
army, you know,” said Levi, determined he would 
let the judge know about his martial kin. 

44 I meant punishment — physical, like whipping.” 

“ Oh ! Ezackly. I — I know what you mean, a 
lickin’,” said Levi, turning nimbly on his heel and 
catching up promptly with this fugitive meaning 
of the judge’s language. “ A lickin’ is what brings 
some folks to their senses.” 

“ I w~as going to say if corporal punishment 
must be administered, it is always desirable to do 
it in private ” — 

44 Oh ! of course,” chimed in the driver promptly. 
44 You mean arter school and to have a winder 
open, and to skip out of it, when the master ain’t 
a-lookin’, and afore he has a chance to lay a hand 
on ye. I allers, when I was a thought this 
ere lickin’ business was a mistake, and I dodged it 
when I could.” 

44 Of course,” continued the judge, 44 the teacher 
had better avoid corporal punishment if it can be 
avoided. That thing stirs up bad blood in the 
party whipped. I am inclined to think, and 
indeed I do think, now that I know the facts, that 
Mr. Endicott acted very wisely and effectively, 
and before he gets through he will show that he 
has more courage than the whole bunch of his 
critics around the old stove in the tavern.” 


THE CAMP IN THE WOODS. 


125 


Levi looked at him slyly. 

“ La,” thought the driver. “ Ef I didn’t draw 
the jedge out. He talks right off, faster than the 
minister even. I guess,” he said aloud, “I guess, 
Jedge Alton, you are right. Git up, Nancy! 
Betsey, git up there ! Ef you don’t, I’ll have the 
schoolmaster after you ! ” 

“ Ha, ha, Levi ! They seem to hear you and 
understand you.” 

“ I guess so, Jedge. I want to get you to your 
place in good season. You come back with me, 
to-night ? ” 

I expect to. I go to one camp where a colored 
man and his wife are stopping. Then I go about 
half a mile farther where 1 have several men at 
work. I expect to take dinner there, and then I 
shall come back.” 

“ E-zackly, J edge,” replied Levi, “ and I shall 
be ’long about four, and I’ll be lookin’ out 
for ye.” 

“ Thank you.” 

There were several halts at small country post- 
offices, and at last Levi’s horses stopped at a point 
in a far-reaching forest where a logging path struck 
off into the depths of the snow-laden evergreens. 
A careless rider might have gone by it, but Levi’s 
eyes were keen to detect the significance of every 
break in the forest lining the woods, and he said, 
“ Here ye be, I believe ! Path, you see, and your 
place is beyond, isn’t it ? ” 


126 


THE CAMP IN THE WOODS. 


“You are right.” 

“ Got fur to walk ? ” 

“ Only about half a mile, and I’ll be here at 
four.” 

“ All right, Jedge. Git up there, beauties ! ” 
The “ beauties ” went one way and the judge 
another. 

As the judge moved down the logging-path, the 
delicate loveliness of the scene delighted him. 
Under the spreading boughs of the pines, was the 
whitest, purest snow, and the winter flakes had 
coated the tree-trunks also as if these crystals were 
trying to reach up and cover everything with their 
own veil of beauty. Now and then, as some snow- 
burdened bough would break, there would be 
mimic cataracts of silver in the air for a moment, 
and then the atmosphere would be clear and the 
woods be silent again. 

“ Seems to me,” reflected the judge, “ that the 
older I grow, the more I am affected by what is 
beautiful around me. It strikes me as more and 
more novel, more and more wonderful. Seems 
strange that as we get to be old, and the body 
loses its loveliness, the greater becomes our ap- 
preciation of everything that is beautiful outside 
of us.” 

That, Judge Alton, is because the soul within is 
actually growing in its capacity for the beautiful, 
and it is a compensation for any defect or blemish 
of the body that old age may bring. 


THE CAMP IN THE WOODS. 


127 


The judge now thought of the colored folk he 
was about to visit, and about that poor fellow in 
slavery down South, whether he could do anything 
to help him out of bondage. It suited his chival- 
rous nature to fancy he was a knight on his way 
to a fortress in need, and that he had power in 
some way to work a deliverance from peril. 

But there was the 44 fortress ” just ahead, though 
looking not at all like such a structure. It was a 
low log house, the snotv piled about it, the snow 
piled upon it. A door and a narrow window 
could be seen. From a funnel thrust out of the 
roof a thin column of smoke struggled up among 
the motionless branches of pine. It was such a 
peaceful scene, as if no storm for years had gone 
crashing through these forests, heaving up the at- 
mosphere into mighty billows, wrenching off the 
boughs, shrieking roaring, threatening to tear up 
and throw aside and overwhelm everything in its 
way. To-day, how quiet it was ! 

44 There’s a crow ! ” said the judge, as he caught 
the caw of a bird in black, flapping its wings above 
the tree-tops. 

Then he listened for other sounds. 

Hark ! What did he hear there by the lumber- 
camp? 

44 Some one singing ? ” he asked. 44 Yes ; I be- 
lieve it is. In the camp, too ! ” 

He stepped up to the homely, black door of this 
wilderness shelter of logs. It was a sweet, clear 


128 


THE CAMP IN THE WOODS. 


voice that he heard, and he could make out these 
words sung over and over again : 

“ Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen, 

Nobody but Jesus.” 

“ It is Pomona,” said the judge. “ What a pretty- 
voice she has ! ” He disliked to interrupt her 
song, but soon he tapped lightly on the door. 

There may be so much character expressed in a 
knock. There is an abrupt, fierce pound that says, 
“ Let me in ! ” and it is a stormy, north-wind ap- 
plicant at the door. A gentle rap is the language 
of courtesy and its voice is, “ If you please.” A 
timid man feebly knocks once. The persevering 
soul raps again and again. The impatient and 
long-suffering, the despondent and cheerful all 
have their characteristic knocks. If observant we 
cannot only tell one another, but see how we re- 
veal character, when we rap with a knocker, pull 
a doorbell, or even manipulate the little ivory- 
knob that fires off a short, metallic “ jing-g-g-g-g ! ” 

Judge Alton heard a voice within responding to 
his firm but restrained knock without. 

“ Come in ! ” said the voice. 

The camp never caught up and detained much 
light. At first the judge could not see who or 
what might be there. Soon he made out a form 
near the stove. The figure was bundled up and 
occupying a rocking chair. 


THE CAMP IN THE WOODS. 


129 


“ It is Judge Alton, Pomona ! ” 

“ I see ye, massa. Won’ ye sit down ? Take a 
cheer.” 

There was only a rude bench to be seen. 

“ Thank you, Pomona. How are you feeling 
to-day ? ” 

“Oh! toluble, toluble.” 

Pomona was a mulatto. She had a very soft, 
silvery voice. 

“ I fought it was ole massa’s frien’. Sounded 
like him.” 

“ Massa’s friend ? ” 

“ Ole massa at de Souf, you know, had a young 
frien’ a-vis’tin’ from de Norf ! ” 

“ He been here ? ” 

“ Dat young frien’ came here one day from de 
ribber, close by, you know. I knowed him, Jedge, 
soon as I put my eye on him, sort ob tall an’ 
hansum. I say he came from de ribber, had skates 
in his han’, an’ knock like a gen’leman. I knowed 
him, oh ! I did, but I didn’ say noffin. I gib him 
some water.” 

“He didn’t know you?” 

“ O, no ! He nebber spoke to me in his life. 
Sort ob make me shibber to see him ; made me 
tink ob ole massa.” 

“ But you are free ! ” 

“ Free, Jedge ? Oh ! la, free as de win’, but it 
bring up ole time, you know.” 

“ Queer your old master’s friend should be 


130 


THE CAMP IN THE WOODS. 


round here. Well, let him go, and peace to him, 
long as he behaves himself. But I wanted to ask 
you how you were ? But I remember ; you said 
you were tolerable.” 

Pomona’s answer was a cough. She had given 
several such indications of her health or lack of it. 

“ A powerful bad cough, massa, but I’se tryin’ 
to get de upper han’s ob it.” 

“ Well, now, you ought not to stay here. See 
here, Pomona, an idea comes to me. How would 
you like to come up to the farmhouse and let Eliza 
take care of you ? Mose would have to come too. 
I could make a job for him. That would keep him 
busy. Somebody else I met this morning wanted 
work, but I must give Mose the first chance, of 
course. You ought not to be down here, so near 
the river, you know. A pretty low place here. 
We will consider that settled, shall we ?” 

Nothing could be seen of the being called 
Pomona save her white teeth and the whites of 
her eyes, so thin was the light and so close were 
her muffiings. A low, happy chuckle showed she 
was pleased. 

“ I’ll do it, massa. You be a heap too kind to 
Mose an’ me.” 

“ Oh ! that is all right, Pomona. Now, one 
thing more. We are going to have a little enter- 
tainment — well, concert and so on ; music, you 
know, for your brother Ben. Now you tell me 
where he is.” 


THE CAMP IN THE WOODS. 


131 


As she gave the place “ down Souf,” the judge 
recorded it in his memorandum book. 

“ What has Ben paid for his freedom ? ” 

“ Mos’ paid. Wants ’bout a hunurd more.” 

“Well, now, I will tell them at home where 
they say, or you say, Ben is, and you tell Mose 
what I say about your moving. And see here, 
Pomona ! Do you stay here alone much? ” 

“ A heap.” 

“ Any callers at the door — a man with black, 
bad eyes ? ” 

“ Lemrne see ! Dis is Chewsday. Monday dar 
come a bad-lookin’ man wantin’ work.” 

“ I thought as much. Well, tell Mose what I 
say about your moving.” 

The judge now left, and visiting another part of 
his big woods where he had men at work, returned 
in season to ride home with Levi Green. 

He told his family what Pomona had said about 
Ben. He then informed Annie that he had engaged 
“ a distinguished artist ” for the coming entertain- 
ment, and as he had promised, he proposed to send 
a sleigh for such help. 

Two days after he said to Annie, “Here comes 
the artist I secured for the entertainment.” 

Annie looked out of the window. The clash of 
sleigh bells came nearer. She saw Mose driving 
this approaching team. By his side was packed 
an immense bundle. Two black eyes looked out 
of this mountain package. 


132 


THE CAMP IN THE WOODS. 


Before leaving the camp the day of his recent 
visit, the judge not only told Pomona of the pur- 
pose to “raise a little money for Ben” by means 
of an entertainment, but added a proposition. 

“ It is to buy his freedom, you know, Pomona, 
but I want to ask something of you. When I 
was coming toward the camp, I heard you singing 
and I liked it.” 

Pomona's black eyes glistened. 

“ Now I want to know this. If after coming up 
to Eliza’s, you should be any better and had 
strength enough, of course, would you be willing 
to sing that same piece at the entertainment ? ’ 

“ O, massa ! ” 

Pomona spoke in a tone of demur, but she was 
nevertheless pleased to receive this compliment. 

“ I mean if you are well enough, of course. I 
know it would please them to hear you, Pomona.” 

“Jes’ as you say,” replied the silvery voice 
located somewhere among the mufflings. “ Dref- 
ful ’fraid I’se break down.” 

“ Oh ! no, you won’t ; and it is for Ben.” 

“You are all berry good.” 

“Don’t speak of it. We like to help things 
along. It is one of the pleasures of living.” 

“ I’ll do my bes’. Sing well as I ken.” 

The “ distinguished artist ” had now arrived at 
the judge’s, almost concealed under that mass of 
wrappings. Annie, though, had not yet secured 
the help of the schoolmaster. 


CHAPTER XI. 

VITALITY AS A STUDY. 

W HAT was the trouble with Sammy, the 
grandson living with Simon and Samantha 
Hanscom, Paul’s host and hostess ? 

People said this was Sammy’s trouble — he was 
a “Potwin.” Sammy was a younger brother of 
Bill Potwin, and also Titus Potwin, the school- 
master in the district “ over the river.” Sammy’s 
mother was a daughter of the Hanscoms. When 
young, she had foolishly consented to marry one 
much older, even Jones Potwin, a widower with 
two sons, Bill and the schoolmaster. 

It was a very ill-assorted partnership. It was 
not a source of happiness to the parties directly 
interested, and it was not popular with either the 
Hanscoms or Potwins. This unhappy alliance 
was of short duration. Martha, the wife, died 
first, leaving a young child — Sammy. In a few 
years his father passed away. The schoolmaster 
now became head of the family, superintending 
133 


134 


VITALITY AS A STUDY. 


the farm and Bill also, to the regret of the latter, 
and hiring an old woman to act as housekeeper. 
Sammy went to live with his grandparents. While 
a Potwin, he was generally spoken of as a Hans- 
com. He was a boy always up to something, which 
often meant down to something disagreeable, if not 
disgraceful in the consequences to Sammy. People 
would say, “ Oh ! it is because he is a Potwin.” 

Grandmother never forgot that two streams 
flowed between the same banks, and that part of 
this restless tide was “ Potwin ” and part was 
“ Hanscom.” She disliked the Potwin element or 
current, and might criticise and scold it. What 
she considered to be “ Hanscom ” she generally re- 
garded with praise, and if not a subject for ad- 
miration, then she looked upon it .with charity. 
It puzzled Paul to understand why the old lady 
made Sammy the mark at which she might direct 
some sharp word of censure, and yet within five 
minutes cover the wound with her extravagant 
praise of the boy. He did not know that the first 
time she saw what was “ Potwin ” and the second 
time what was “ Hanscom,” and if her intense 
nature condemned too severely the “ Potwin ” 
element, it poured out its affectionate fullness on 
the Hanscom sheltered behind Sammy’s black and 
white woolen jacket. 

There was one thing that was a complete mystery 
to the grandmother and a frequent grief to his 
teacher — a certain mischievousness, so it seemed, 


VITALITY AS A STUDY. 


185 


that might break out in any place and at any time. 
It was a restlessness in harmful doing. It did not 
seem to be deliberate. Sammy was generally in- 
nocent of any special motive in this doing, or mis- 
doing, rather. If it had been deliberate, the old 
lady would have recognized it at once and labeled 
it as “ Potwin.” “ Them Potwins,” she would 
sajr, “ look a long way ahead.” 

“ Sammy, now,” she would sometimes break out, 
in view of any mischief he had performed, 44 what 
did you think of when you did that ? ” 

44 Didn’t think of nothin’, grandmother,” Sammy 
might say and be honest in the saying of it. An 
impulse would strike Sammy, even as a bat strikes 
a ball, and without thought he would fly toward 
the object in view. 

If Sammy had thought, had maliciously delib- 
erated, it would have been a Potwinism. On the 
other hand, the old lady never would consent to 
call it a Hanscomism. It was conduct undignified, 
and what Hanscom would condescend to such a 
thing ? Her models were her husband, Simon 
Hanscom, and Ajax, her son, in his young man- 
hood, for she seemed to have forgotten the capers 
he executed when a boy. As Paul Endicott re- 
minded her of Ajax, she saw also in the young 
schoolmaster’s dignity a proper Hanscom model. 

44 That Sammy, Mr. Rendercut,” exclaimed his 
landlady, 44 puzzles me wuss than an Injun, and I 
spect in school he carries on same as here.” 


186 


VITALITY AS A STUDY. 


“Well-1-1,” said the schoolmaster hesitatingly, 
“ he — he has some fun aboard.” 

“ You needn’t feel called on to own up. You 
mustn’t forget he is a part Potwin, and what can 
you expect of them Potwinses ? ” 

“ Oh ! I guess we can manage him.” 

Yes, there would be management, but the man- 
agement of the pupil meant a trial for the school- 
master. 

“ I don’t think I understand Sammy,” he con- 
fessed to himself. “ I wish I did, for it does not 
do any good to a boy to keep nagging him all the 
time, and that is what his grandmother does, and 
I am afraid I do it myself. I should be glad to 
have a hint about Sammy.” 

It was Levi Green who gave him a hint. Paul 
had called at the tavern to see if, in response to an 
advertisement of a missing traveling bag, there 
had been a rescue of any such article anywhere by 
anybody. 

“Nothing yet,” said the tavern-keeper, known 
as one “ Cap’n Prince.” 

Paul stepped out doors again. Sammy had 
come with him, and together they lingered on the 
platform before the tavern door. 

“Wait till the stage goes off, Mr. Endicott,” 
pleaded Sammy. 

The air was intensely magnetic, and it affected 
the horses as if the}' were in the circuit of highly- 
charged wires, and they were exceedingly restless. 


VITALITY AS A STUDY. 


13T 


“ Horses uneasy ? ” Paul said to Levi Green, the 
driver. 

“ Yas, yas,” replied Levi. “ They’ve been shet 
up — don’t run the same horses every day, you 
know. The cold jest wakes ’em up, and they want 
to go. Full of vitality, and they’ve got to go. 
Must git rid of their steam some way, and you 
don’t want ’em to leave ’em in the stable a-kickin’ 
the stall to flinders. So much vitality aboard, and 
they must be rid of it somehow. Better to go out 
of ’em a-drivin’ down the road and doin’ good 
a-haulin’ the stage, than to have it leave ’em 
through their kickin’ process. Vitality, that’s 
what ails ’em. And it is the same with that boy,” 
he said in a low voice to the schoolmaster, pointing 
toward Sammy. He continued in a suppressed 
tone : “ Now his grandmother thinks sometimes 
he is a dreadful bad chap, but it is a good deal jest 
his vitality. He must have vent for it some way, 
and if it isn’t in a good way, Sammy will find a 
poor way for it. The world wants the steam there 
is aboard that boy, if his folks can only be patient 
with him while a-growin’ up.” 

“ That is your opinion, then, about Sammy ? ” 
said the schoolmaster. 

“ Sartin ! I have to study my hosses, and by 
studyin’ my hosses I sometimes find out about 
human bein’s. Vitality — that’s what the matter 
is with my hosses and Sammy. They’re too vital. 
Git up there!” he shouted to his “vital” horses, 


138 


VITALITY AS A STUDY. 


and away they went, galloping into the elm-arched 
street ; and as they rushed the old stage forward, 
a nervous excitement that might otherwise have 
been harmful, was converted into useful motive 
power. 

Paul went to the schoolhouse thinking busily. 
Was that the trouble with Sammy — vitality? 
Was not that the trouble with a crowd of young 
people, not the effervescence of an evil spirit, but 
the restlessness of an active spirit, vitality, a 
boiler crowded with steam fuming and fizzing, and 
sometimes finding vent in an explosion? The 
world needs this steam, thought Paul. It w r ill 
make splendid motive power some day, and send 
round and send ahead the machinery of business, 
of the trades, of professional life. May not the 
old world make a mistake when it looks down at 
the young world that is shouting and shrieking, 
jumping and bobbing, pushing and shoving, roundly 
scolding this same young world ? May not the pru- 
dent old man unwisely call it Devil in the young 
man which is only an excess of steam power, and 
which the old man had in his own troublesome 
boiler once. So the neighbors thought. 

Occupation is the safety valve for this restless 
and crowding motive power. Keep it bus}\ Keep 
it at work. Do not give it an opportunity to do 
a wrong thing just because upon it is laid the pres- 
ent necessity of doing something. 

Was not Sammy Hanscom, thought Paul, packed 


VITALITY AS A STUDY. 


139 


with nervous force for whose safe expenditure there 
must be ample opportunity ? 

The case was certainly worthy of study. Levi 
Green found it advisable to study his horses. The 
farmer, Paul reflected, if wise, never planted a crop 
without considering its adaptability to the soil, 
whose elements had all been taken into careful 
consideration. How a merchant studied the mar- 
ket — its needs, and its ability to pay for those 
needs ! How thoroughly an engineer who threw 
a bridge over a stream estimated the strength of 
the current that would press against the piers, and 
the pressure that would come upon the wood-work 
springing from pier to pier! On the other hand, 
were not human beings — boys and girls — of more 
importance than horses, or crops, or markets, or 
bridges, and did they not demand more thorough 
consideration of their needs and powers? How 
much had Paul Endicott studied his scholars? 

“ A big task,” murmured the schoolmaster, “to 
find out about my scholars. However, I will make 
a beginning with Sammy. I will do what Levi 
does with his horses. I will see if I can occupy 
that restless nature in some way. What does 
Sammy like to do ? Let me think.” 

He recalled the fact that at home he had seen 
Sammy drawing. It was a miscellaneous and 
grotesque collection of objects that he saw, one 
night, pictured on Sammy’s slate, from Noah’s 
ark down to Levi Green’s horses. He had found 


140 


VITALITY AS A STUDY. 


also, in his own desk at school, an old drawing 
book. 

“ I will occupy Sammy’s vitality now,” thought 
Paul. “ I will see that he follows this, systemati- 
cally, at home.” 

None of Paul’s plans miscarried. Sammy was 
pleased with the drawing book, and after tea he 
would bend over pencil and paper until his head 
was low as the level of the table, his eyes closed, 
his thoughts overwhelmed with the unconscious- 
ness of slumber. Then, before arousing him, his 
grandmother would bend over the boy, and with a 
hashed, absorbing delight, holding her finger to 
her lips, pass from one artistic effort to another. 
Such faultless curves, wonderful exact squares — 
such birds, beasts, men ! The thought in her fond 
old heart was, “ I do believe he is all Hanscom ! ” 

At school Paul would not only keep the artist 
at work on humble sketches while seated in his 
desk, but he would plant Sammy at the black- 
board and give him a map to copy, or a piece of 
mechanical apparatus to delineate. Sammy did 
very well for a while. Then Paul came to the con- 
clusion that there must not only be occupation for 
Sammy, but variety of occupation. It was a sweep 
of mild air from the south that was the occasion 
of this final opinion of Paul. As it played among 
the branches of the apple-trees in the orchards, it 


VITALITY AS A STUDY. 


141 


almost cheated them into the belief that this was 
spring, and the buds began to loosen their over- 
coats and act as if it were time to reveal to the 
world their softly-tinted beauty. This warm breath 
had power enough to effect a window of the school- 
house, a window near a blackboard where Sammy 
was at work, chalk in hand. The schoolmaster 
said within his soul, “ Bless me, how hot it is ! 
Do let us have that window open ! There,” he 
said, after raising it, “ how delicious this draught 
of pure air ! So springlike, too, and sunny ! Very 
nice ! ” 

Sammy was of the same opinion. He was rather 
tired of drawing. Through the window he could 
see banks from which the sun had lifted the soft 
white cushions with which the snow had uphol- 
stered them, and to be out on one of them, sitting 
there to enjoy the balmy air, seemed far prefer- 
able to work in school. 

“ Getting tired of this drawing,” thought Sammy, 
nervously. “ Oh, the master has raised the win- 
dow ! Splendid ! ” 

Sammy was soon occupied with glances out of 
the window. 

The longer he looked, the more tempting was 
the world without. But what was that he saw as 
he glanced downward ? 

“ It looks like ” — Sammy could not definitely 


142 


VITALITY AS A STUDY. 


say what — but it looked so much like the rim of 
a hat under the window that his curiosity could 
not be controlled. He stepped down from his 
chair, and noticing the schoolmaster’s back w'as 
turned, he gently shoved his chair along until it 
was directly before the window. Then making 
sure that the schoolmaster’s back and not his face 
was still turned toward him, he mounted the chair, 
and leaning over the window-sill, looked out. 
The window was low, Sammy was up high, and — 
dangerously leaning forward, and — the result can 
be imagined. 

The first intimation given to the schoolmaster 
that there was an expenditure of Sammy’s vitality 
in the wrong direction, was a sharp, shrill cry, 
“ Ugh-h-h ! ” just outside the window. 

This was succeeded by a bass roar from the same 
quarter. When Paul turned, Sammy was gone ! 
There was the window, the open window, to sug- 
gest where Sammy had gone, and those cries told 
how he had gone. But what did the two cries 
mean? Did the two elements within Sammy, that 
of “ Potwin ” and that of “ Hanscom,” voice them- 
selves in these two outcries, the sharpness of the 
tenor and the growl of the bass indicating the two 
unlike beings inside the one Sammy ? It would 
have puzzled even Grandmother HansCom to say. 

Paul did not stop to answer any useless conject- 
ures that might be raised, but sprang to the window 
and then rushed to the door, the school keeping 


VITALITY AS A STUDY. 


143 


about as quiet as such bodies generally do in such 
moments of excitement. There Paul saw the sob- 
bing Sammy rubbing his eyes filled with tears, 
while a stout young man was bending over 
Sammy, wiping his face with a red handkerchief, 
and saying comforting words to him. A pile of 
books Paul saw under the window. 

44 Now, Sammy,” inquired Paul hurriedly, 44 what 
are you up to ? ” 

44 1 was a-a-fishing-for-his-hat,” said the sobbing 
Sammy, 44 and-I-went-too-far.” 

44 1 was sitting down there,” said the big young 
man, lifting a good-natured face and smiling, 44 and 
was waiting for recess, when this boy came out. 
I wasn’t looking for him. Sorry to disturb the 
school.” 

44 Oh ! it isn’t your fault,” replied Paul. 44 That 
boy is always — there, Sammy,” he said to the 
blubbering boy, 44 you can go in and stand in the 
corner.” 

44 1 didn’t mean to,” sobbed the retreating 
Sammy. 

44 Did you want to see me — or — ? ” 

Paul addressed this to the stranger and then 
hesitated. He did not know whether this huge 
young man came as a visitor to see the school, or 
did the books indicate that he was about to present 
himself as a scholar ? 

44 1 wanted to have a talk with you when you 
were not busy,” explained the new arrival. 


144 


VITALITY AS A STUDY. 


“ Very well. Won’t you come in ? ” replied the 
master. To the school he roared, “ School, be 
seated ! ” 

The scholars, who had begun to flock to the 
windows, rushed back to their seats, while the 
visitor took a chair that Paul offered him at the 
teacher’s desk, and there the visitor sat with low- 
ered and blushing face, while Sammy also hung 
his head and blushed in his corner. The young 
people on the female side of the school slyly com- 
mented on the schoolmaster’s manner at the time 
of this outbreak of vitality on the part of Sammy. 

“ Didn’t the young man from college glare like 
a lion?” wrote Patty Weeks, Annie Alton’s inti- 
mate friend. 

“ Yes,” was the reply, on an arithmetic fly-leaf; 
“but he is very much of a lamb out of school, and 
makes up for it.” 

That was the master’s method in school, dignit} r , 
promptness, sternness, if not fierceness of manner, 
but out of school this all subsided, and Paul was 
an older brother to the boys, save the few who had 
more years than he, and a gallant protector of the 
girls, and a teacher in a very democratic kind of a 
gymnasium. His scholars liked him and feared 
him also, for his prowess amid the bars and on the 
rings and before the sandbag, was continually em- 
phasized by his pupils in the gymnasium. He was 
considered to be “spunky.” 

But what did the huge young stranger want? 


VITALITY AS A STUDY. 


145 


He gave his name as Sylvester Dixon. Paul’s 
fame had reached Sylvester in his rustic retirement, 
and he had come to this wonderful savant from 
Brunswick that he might study “ higher algebra ” 
and “ geometry ” and “ astronomy.” He therefore 
was enrolled on the school register, and at once 
was seated among the scholars. His legs were so 
long that Paul sometimes wondered how Sylvester 
could possibly stow them under any desk in the 
schoolroom, but he did pack them away somehow, 
and they were legs which never troubled Paul in 
the least. The master’s authority was stronger 
for the advent of this huge scholar who had come 
for the sole purpose of study, and not in any way 
to tease the } r oung teacher whom he could have 
held out with one arm and then swung him over 
his head. The girls called him “moose,” and 
joked about the firm of “ the moose and the lion,” 
but the jesting showed that the master and his 
bulky pupil were on the best of terms, and if the 
least revolt against authority had broken out, all 
the school knew where Sylvester Dixon would 
have been found. He was a Saxon in his style of 
looks, with blue eyes and abundance of yellowish 
hair, sandy complexion and an incipient straw- 
colored beard. 

He told Paul after school the second night, 
“ I live on a farm now, but I have an idea that 
I might fit myself for something else.” 

“ Do you know Latin and Greek ? ” asked Paul. 


146 


VITALITY AS A STUDY. 


44 Yes, sir ; I have studied both.” 

44 What do you think you would like to do in 
after life ? ” 

44 Well, I have a satisfaction in being with sick 
people ; like to tuck them up and make them feel 
comfortable. Then it is rather nice to feel that 
you have power over pain, that you can conquer 
it. I have sometimes — yes, often, fancied I would 
like to be a doctor.” 

44 Why not fit yourself for that ? ” 

44 That would mean going to college. I rather 
incline toward it. The day I came my folks said 
I might go, but you know it takes some thinking 
before you decide. But there ! I have thought, 
just thought, a long time.” 

44 1 am inclined to the belief that you have 
thought long enough, from what you tell me. 
What is needed is decision, and when one has a 
general conviction that he ought to do a thing, a 
quick decision is the best in the world. Now let 
me propose that you change the course of study 
you had in mind when you came to school, and 
take up the Latin and Greek, and seriously think 
of going to college.” 

44 1 ” — Sylvester hesitated. 

Without a full appreciation of the importance of 
the decision, he yet felt instinctively that he was 
coming to a corner in his life, and not a mean 
corner. And at the corner stood the teacher to 
urge onward or turn backward. If teachers, do 


VITALITY AS A STUDY. 


147 


we realize that our privilege is not solely to teach, 
but to stand at the corners that our pupils are con- 
tinually meeting, and to encourage them to make 
the right turn ? The teacher has a shortened view 
of things who does not look farther out and take 
all this within the sweep of his vision. 

“I — will,” said Sylvester positively. 

“ That is right,” said Paul, holding out his hand 
to Sylvester, who seized it heartily. They real- 
ized that the decision was one of moment. 

Paul and his big scholar still lingered in the 
schoolhouse. They talked upon various subjects. 
At last Sylvester spoke of his home. 

“Just where do you live, may I ask?” said 
Paul. 

“ I live not far from the ‘ corners ’ where Levi 
Green told me he dropped you the night you came 
to town/’ 

“ Oh ! you live in that neighborhood, Syl- 
vester ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ I did not know that.” 

“ I live not far from the main road. Have you 
found your traveling bag ? ” 

“ How did you know I had lost one ? ” 

“ Oh ! it has been advertised, you know, and 
then it got round through the neighborhood, and 
we have been trying to look it up.” 

“ Yes ; in the notice I did say the bag was 
dropped somewhere near the ‘ corners.’ ” 


148 


VITALITY AS A STUDY. 


“ I kicked through the snow more than an hour 
trying to find it.” 

“ You were very kind.” 

“Well,” said a voice in the rear addressing 
Sylvester, “ I don’t suppose you kicked it up into 
light ? ” 

When Paul turned he saw Bill Potwin. The 
boy’s tone was peculiar, and Paul had occasion 
afterwards to recall that fact. 

“ I saw nothing of it,” said Sylvester. 

Bill Potwin had come into the schoolhouse after 
a book. He now went out. Paul and Sylvester 
were again alone. 

Paul paid no further attention to the bag, for 
a more important subject was on his mind. 

“ Any — branch of — the — Alton — family live 
— over your way ? ” he inquired hesitatingly, 
moving like one in the dark, but toward a possible 
light. 

“ Nobody of that name,” replied Sylvester, and 
this remark left Paul in the same darkness as 
before. One ray of light, though, was kindled 
when Sylvester said, “ There are the Grahams ; 
they are connections of the Altons.” 

“ Ah ! where do they live ? ” 

“ On a road branching off from the main road.” 

“ A farmhouse on the left hand side ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ First house you come to?” 

“Yes, sir.” 


VITALITY AS A STUDY. 


149 


The one ray was now growing to an encouraging 
size. Paul recalled the classic profile of the face 
of the man he had lifted out of the snowdrifts 
that night he arrived in town. He recalled, too, 
the man’s sorry condition. 

“What are Mr. Graham’s habits?” asked Paul. 

“ What, sir?” replied Sylvester wonderingly. 

“ I mean, is he a drinking man ? ” 

“ O, no ! he is a very intelligent man, you 
know.” 

“ But intelligent people sometimes drink,” said 
Paul, who felt that his ray of light was going out, 
and wanted to save it, though it might show that 
Mr. Graham was a drunkard. 

“ Yes ; but I think Mr. Graham understands 
himself and knows that the habit would hurt him, 
and through his example, the habit would hurt 
other folks.” 

Paul’s ray had entirely vanished. He made, 
though, one more effort to revive it. 

“ Does Mr. Graham have fits so that he — he — 
he is insensible ? ” 

Sylvester now eyed the master keenly, as if he 
suspected that Paul had been guilty of the sin he 
had been willing to impute to Mr. Graham. The 
conversation had had indeed a curious slide frpm 
a college course for Sylvester down to Mr. Graham’s 
liability to fits. 

“Never had fits that I ever heard of,” said the 
astonished Sylvester. 


150 


VITALITY AS A STUDY. 


The schoolmaster abandoned all efforts to find a 
light that would reveal the nature of the perils of 
that beautiful Alcestis, who had been the object of 
the efforts of Hercules in a snowy twilight rescue. 

Here the schoolmaster and his pupil left the 
schoolhouse to its silence and shadows, and then 
separated to their homes. Paul went to his room, 
busily thinking about various matters. He was so 
nerve-tired that he was glad there was a “ vacation ” 
that night for his class in gymnastics. “ General 
exercise ” had been adjourned for the sake of a 
spelling school in district number six, which some 
of his pupils wished to attend, and so needed their 
time for preparation. He could go out alone amid 
his beloved bars, and no person was there to inter- 
rupt his meditations. He had now been keeping 
school four weeks. If Sylvester Dixon, in coming 
to Paul Endicott’s school, felt that he was coming 
to a wise man, Paul was convinced that he himself 
had sat at the feet of a teacher whose instruction 
was vastly superior to any he could give, namely, 
experience. 

“ I thought I did know something,” reflected 
Paul, “ but my words sound like the chattering of 
an ignoramus. Sometimes I think I am wise in 
my discipline, but, dear me, my management, when 
I look at it as a whole, seems just full of blunders. 
O, dear ! school-keeping is a great revealer of one’s 
limitations. You never know when, too, your 
work is done. Old lady Hanscom will say : 


VITALITY AS A STUDY. 


151 


‘ Man’s work is from sun to sun ; 

Woman’s work is never done.’ 

I guess she never taught school. There is her 
Sammy, the still vital Sammy. I thought I had 
fixed that boy’s case nicely, but I find occupation 
is not enough ; there must be variety in it. My 
hands are full. The idea of studying Sammy sets 
me to thinking I must study them all. How, 
though, can I find out about them if I don’t go to 
their homes and see how they live, what the influ- 
ences are there, what kind of parents they have, 
and so on? Hands full? 

* Common folks’ work is from sun to sun ; 

Women’s and schoolmasters’ is never done.’ 

That is the way those ’lines ought to run. Now, I 
must study something else for Sammy to do. 
What shall it be ? ” 

He ascertained in some way that Sammy liked to 
find out a puzzle. Sammy’s curiosity was aroused 
thereby, his ingenuity and perseverance challenged, 
and the results of a discovery were very gratifying 
to him. Paul would hunt up puzzles in news- 
papers, or, if he saw a toy that was an enigma pro- 
posing some perplexing task to the handler, he 
would buy such for Sammy. Paul found himself 
asking a question of the schoolmaster one night : 
If the proper understanding of Sammy involved 
such study, what must it be to know his entire 


152 


VITALITY AS A STUDY. 


school ? Sammy was one little island, like Colum- 
bus’ San Salvador, beyond which was a continent 
to be discovered and explored. 

Paul learned one other thing about Sammy; 
that he had a sharp and unfailing interest in 
“stories.” The schoolmaster’s memory was good, 
and his imagination vivid. While he could recall 
interesting facts in history, he also had large re- 
sources of fancy. Sammy always proved an inter- 
ested listener. He had a round, bullet head, brown 
eyes, a soft, fair skin, and flaxen hair. He would 
lean forward, resting his head on his hands, and 
his elbows in turn on his knees. Then he would 
eye the schoolmaster, who might tell him how 
David slew Goliath, or how the water came to the 
relief of besieged Leyden in Holland, and when 
Scripture and secular history failed, then the 
schoolmaster would knock at the door of his stores 
of fancy, that a little fellow might look into Fairy- 
land and see the marvels thereof. Sammy’s 
“ vitality ” was never troublesome when the school- 
master was telling stories. 

“ I like you,” exclaimed Sammy, after the con- 
clusion of a story one evening, by the open fire ; 
and reaching out his chubby brown hand, he rested 
it on the schoolmaster’s arm, as if tendered in a 
devoted surrender. 

“ That pays me,” said the schoolmaster, who was 
beginning to comprehend in that great school-world 
which he had entered how warm may be a child’s 


VITALITY AS A STUDY. 


153 


affection, and how priceless it is to every appreci- 
ative teacher. 

Sammy’s grandparents were interested in these 
fireside stories. Simon Hanscom would nod his head 
in a smiling assent as long as he could keep awake 
and hear a story, and when he began his usual even- 
ing nap, it would be with a grin on his face, still 
nodding in the direction of Paul. Samantha would 
generally drop her knitting-work and listen, her 
soul entranced. She might have been surprised if 
anybody had told her that she was most interested 
in stories about “ giants ” and “ bears.” When 
Paul had finished, though Simon might be far on 
his way to the Land of Nod, Samantha was always 
awake. Very often she would say to herself, 
“ How much Mr. Rendercut’s voice is like Ajux’s ! ” 
Then the tears would fill her eyes, and she would 
think, “ In just that way Ajux was fond of Sammy. 
Couldn’t be two peas more like in a pod than my 
Ajux and the schoolmaster.” 


CHAPTER XII. 


AT THE JUDGE S. 



'HAT he might more thoroughly know his 


-L scholars, Paul proposed to begin a series of 
calls at their homes. Of course, it was more 
chivalrous to commence with the gentler sex. 
And here it was more fitting first to notice the big 
girls on the back seat. Those big girls had their 
little peculiarities of conduct such as giggles, 
nudges, sly pokes and certain liberties of conduct 
hard to be suppressed. They gave the schoolmas- 
ter far more trouble than the little girls who could 
be easily corrected, and with an intense admiration 
would have repaid the teacher for an early call at 
their homes. 

“ I must begin at the homes of my older 
scholars, and call upon — their parents,” said the 
schoolmaster. “I will begin with — Judge Alton.” 

It seemed to him that the judge would make a 
very interesting object of study, and if he under- 
stood the judge, he would know all the better the 


154 


AT THE JUDGE’S. 


155 


judge’s daughter. True, he heard the warning 
voice of his old college crony, Will Gaines, and the 
fancied tones came to Paul’s ear all the way from 
South College, “ Annie Alton, rock of danger ! ” 

No matter, Judge Alton must be thoroughly 
studied and fully understood. In that way, Annie 
Alton would be known, the school better governed, 
and the interest of the whole district consulted. 

' At the close of an afternoon when Annie had 
specially tried him, provoking from him sundry 
sharp glances directed like lances toward the big 
girls’ corner, he said to Annie when demurely 
passing out of the room, 44 Miss Annie, if your 
father is to be at home, I would like to call down 
and see — see — you, this evening.” 

She directed her brilliant eyes toward him and 
thrilled him with a roguish glance as she replied, 
44 He and we all would be very glad to see you, sir.” 

“ Thank you,” said the schoolmaster with dig- 
nity, lowering his head before that very direct look, 
and blushing at the awkward arrangement of his 
thoughts. 

Outside the schoolhouse, she said to Patty 
Weeks, 44 O, Patty ! don’t you think ” — She broke 
off suddenly. 

44 Don’t want me to think ? I will, marm.” 

44 Stop ! The 4 lion ’ is coming down to see us 
this evening — a real live lion ! And how do you 
think he announced His Majesty’s intention to call 
on us ? ” 


156 


AT THE JUDGE’S. 


“ I don’t know,” said Patty, who was a bit jeal- 
ous because the schoolmaster had said nothing to 
her about a call, the home of the Altons being so 
near Patty’s. 

“ If my father were to be at home, he would like 
to call and see me, this evening ! ” 

A merry peal of laughter broke forth from the 
two girls as they slowly passed under the archway 
of the big, broad elms, while the teacher was left 
to close up the schoolhouse, and then encompassed 
by a ring of devoted and admiring young gymnasts, 
he slowly made his way to the Hanscom barn. 

In the evening he went to Judge Alton’s. He 
was shown into an old-fashioned but snug and 
comfortable sitting-room where he supposed Annie 
would be waiting to receive him and present him 
to her friends. 

No, the servant Abigail Dow, told the master 
that she was off coasting with Patty Weeks. 

“ The jedge will be right in,” Abigail told him. 

“ Annie thinks from the way I put it that it is 
enough if the judge is at home,” concluded Paul. 

He began to think it might be a good idea to call 
on his two pupils at the hill where they were 
coasting, but the echo of a firm, quick step drew his 
attention to the hall from which he himself had 
recently come. 

“Ah, this is Mr. Endicott, I suppose? I am 
very glad to see you,” said Judge Alton in his 
hearty, emphatic way, advancing with an out- 


AT THE JUDGE'S. 


157 


stretched hand. Paul met the judge as cordially, 
and submitted himself fully to the influence of 
those magnetic blue eyes with their look of frank- 
ness and kindliness winning a person’s confidence 
at once. Aunt Maria was behind the judge, and in 
her motherly face beamed a welcome that did the 
tired schoolmaster good. 

“Sit down and make yourself at home,” said 
Aunt Maria, and Paul was at home at once. It 
seemed to him as if he had been away from the 
home roof-tree a long time, and here was his father, 
and there was his mother. They had so many 
questions to ask, and he had so much to tell. 

“ How did you leave Brunswick ? ” asked the 
father. “ I feel very much interested in Bowdoin. 
I graduated there.” 

“ Did you ? ” asked Paul eagerly, feeling that 
this fact would weave a new bond between this 
paternal host and the master of the village school. 

“ O, yes ! and I think of my old teachers and 
classmates with great interest.” 

“We think the college gains.” 

“ I don’t doubt it. Longfellow and Hawthorne 
have given it a prestige, and there is Franklin 
Pierce, all Bowdoin men. I am very glad you are 
from Brunswick, sir ” — 

The judge hesitated, for a door was opening. 
The schoolmaster lifted his long brown locks and 
blue eyes and looked toward the swinging door. 
Who was entering? If in harmony with the 


158 


AT THE JUDGE'S. 


delightful home feeling that visited him, Paul had 
regarded the judge and Aunt Maria as a kind of 
father and mother, was this a sister who came into 
the room ? Her manner was too constrained to be 
sisterly. It was Annie Alton. A rub from the 
north wind had given a vivid flush of ruddy color 
to her cheeks. Above these, sparkled her wonder- 
ful eyes like the luster of sunrise above fields of 
snow that have caught new beauty from the 
crimsoned east. Annie bowed very slightly and 
quietly, and passed to a chair near the big center 
table. Her arithmetic and lead pencil were on this 
table. 

“Did you have a good time?” asked Aunt 
Maria. “ W ere the slides good ? ” 

“ Splendid ! ” exclaimed Annie. “ I wanted to 
stay longer ” (a remark which cost the schoolmas- 
ter a pang), “ but I knew I must be at home.” 

“ Must ? ” It rather jarred on the master’s ears. 
Was hospitality in this case simply a duty? Did 
it have no background of personal pleasure ? 
“Wanted to be at home ” would have sounded 
more agreeably. 

There was an awkward pause in the conversa- 
tion, all save Annie looking as if they wanted to 
say something, but did not know what. 

Paul noticed that her hand rested on the arith- 
metic while playing with the lead pencil. 

“ I suppose Miss Annie finds a change of arith- 
metics we have made in the school course an 


AT THE JUDGE’S. 


159 


improvement, or — I — I hope so,” said the school- 
master, making a brave effort to start the conver- 
sation again. 

“ The lion is very kind when the rest of us don’t 
know what to say,” wrote Annie on a fly-leaf of 
the arithmetic. 

“ I think Annie complained somewhat of her 
arithmetic,” remarked the judge. 

“ Well,” said Aunt Maria now taking up a stick 
in behalf of Annie, “ these men that make new 
arithmetics and new grammars and new — every- 
thing, will have an account to settle with some- 
bod}^ for making some things so muddy.” 

“ Blessed Aunt Maria ! F riend and saint,” noise- 
lessly said the pencil. 

“But, sister, we must welcome the new,” said 
J udge Alton. “ That is the hope of the world, a 
willingness to welcome a new idea and make place 
for it. The world must find room for new 
thoughts and new plans, and they will be like a 
lot of sunshine and rain on last year’s old orchard 
branches. Take slavery and ” — 

“ Hurrah ! ” wrote the jubilant pencil. “Now I 
am safe ! Father won’t drop that subject for half 
an hour.” 

— u and temperance and what woman can and 
should do (you know you are real advanced on 
those subjects, Maria), and if we did not have 
new ideas on these subjects, where would we be ? 
So with regard to the arithmetic-makers and all 


160 


AT THE JUDGE’S. 


writers on different subjects and all book-makers, 
we want new ideas and the last thing out. There, 
I had almost forgotten it,” exclaimed the judge, 
making a sudden turn backward in his conversa- 
tion. “Speaking of slavery, I am reminded, Mr. 
Endicott, of a little entertainment we are going to 
have in our parlors to help a poor slave buy his 
freedom, and, sir, we should be delighted to have 
you give a reading, a recitation, or anj^thing you 
please. Could you ? ” 

“ O, father ! you are a jewel. That saves me a 
lot of trouble, for I didn’t know how I could ap- 
proach our kingly lion on that subject,” solilo- 
quized the lead pencil. 

“ Ah, could I ? I suppose I could,” replied the 
schoolmaster, “ but ” — 

“ W ell, will you, Mr. Endicott ? ” 

“ An entertainment ? I — I — I” — 

“ Oh ! say you will, Mr. Endicott ? ” remarked 
Aunt Maria in a delightfully coaxing tone that 
conveyed also a compliment. 
u I am afraid ” — 

The tongue of the schoolmaster faltered while 
his cheeks reddened. He looked toward Annie as 
if wanting a word of encouragement from that 
quarter. She was silent, but the pencil pleaded, 
“ Dear lion, say you will roar at the entertain- 
ment ? ” 

And as* if influenced by some kind of mind- 
telegram from Annie to his brain, he now said de- 


AT THE JUDGE’S. 


161 


cidedly, “I will try to help.” He modestly added: 
“ I am only afraid my addition to the entertain- 
ment will be a kind of subtraction.” 

“ O, no ! but a multiplication,” gallantly com- 
mented the judge, while that restless pencil said : 

“Go on, dear lion ! You will yet save a whole 
race now in bondage. Now I sha’n’t have to ask 
you to lend any assistance, and I feel as relieved 
as if my face were black and you had rescued me 
from the depths of slavery.” 

Annie had been as quiet as the puss stretched 
on the rug before the fire. 

“ She is so different from what she is during the 
day, as I see her at school,” reflected the master, 
“ that I don’t know what to make of her.” 

Among the girls, Annie was a vivacious, chatty 
companion. As indicated previously, a laugh was 
sure to be soon heard in any circle of which she 
was a member, and she was quite likely to origi- 
nate it. To-night, she was a beautiful but dumb 
figure there before the golden fire. She did not go 
so far as actually to study her arithmetic, but her 
stealthy pencil scribbled now and then on its pages. 

Hark ! how vigorously an old-fashioned knocker 
was rapped at a side door of the mansion. Annie 
went out to answer it, the kitchen being empty. 
The caller’s voice soon was heard. 

“ It’s Levi Green,” said the master to himself. 
“ He has called to leave a package. Just hear that 
girl!” 


162 


AT THE JUDGE’S. 


Paul caught the sound of Levi’s nasal voice. 
He heard Annie’s merrily echoing laugh, the first 
natural thing she was the author of, that evening. 
He had a mind to go out and tell Levi Green he 
was only a stage driver and had better go back to 
his old ark waiting out in the road, but Annie’s 
entrance restrained him. 

Annie did have a few unanimated remarks now 
to make about the weather, and then she was silent 
the rest of the evening. 

Once her pencil touched a bit of paper and left 
this confession : “ There, I suppose, I know, I 
ought to be talking. What will father and Aunt 
Maria say to me when he is gone ! Such an im- 
polite, wicked girl ! ” 

It was too late though to make amends, for Paul 
was rising and saying that he must go. 

“ Don’t be in haste,” said Aunt Maria. 

“ Stay longer,” urged the judge. The school- 
master, though, excused himself from a longer 
stay. 

“I did not ask you how your parents were,” said 
Aunt Maria suddenly, looking at the young man 
intently. 

“ They are not living. I make my home with 
my guardian,” replied Paul. 

“While you are in town,” said the judge kindly, 
“ feel that this is one of your homes.” 

“ Yes, do so,” urged Aunt Maria. 

More and more did the judge and Aunt Maria 


AT THE JUDGE’S. 


1G3 


seem like parents, but the young girl present, who 
w~as she ? 

Paul went away saying to himself : “ There, I 
came down to study into Annie Alton’s character 
through her friends, and the result is that I seem 
to have an idea about the father and aunt, but I 
know less about the girl than ever. She is a 
puzzle ! I am discouraged about calling round. 
I have a great mind not to go anywhere. 

44 1 will keep my word, though, about that enter- 
tainment,” he added. 44 Maybe I will call at Mr. 
Weeks’.” 

Now if Paul had gone down to the home of 
Patty Weeks, that scholar would have chatted 
merrily with him all the evening. 44 Pa Weeks” 
would have silently listened, now and then smil- 
ingly yet vacantly gazing at the master. 44 Ma 
Weeks ” would have made very simple inquiries 
about the weather. Paul would not only have 
learned something about these heads of the house- 
hold (every family having two heads, not one) 
but he would have seen his chatty scholar, Patty, 
in a new and instructive light. 

Annie Alton was worse than any puzzling 44 im- 
provement ” in the new arithmetic. Her conduct 
was also a mystery to her father. 

44 Annie dear,” he said mildly when the guest 
had gone, 44 1 would try to be more social when 
company comes.” 

44 1 would, father, or I will, rather, but what can 


164 


AT THE JUDGE’S. 


you expect when one knows a fearful lesson in 
arithmetic is before them, and company hinders 
them from getting it ? ” 

“ Well, yes-s ! ” said the father hesitatingly, be- 
cause not sure of his ground. “ I don’t suppose 
Mr. Endicott thought of that.” 

“ Annie did not have any fear of arithmetic,” 
thought Aunt Maria, “ when Levi Green pounded 
on the door.” 

When the judge and his sister were alone, he 
remarked : “ Didn’t Annie act rather strangely ? 
I thought she liked Mr. Endicott, and you, dear, 
were rather quiet for you.” 

“ There was a nice talker in my place,” replied 
Aunt Maria, giving him a complimentary glance. 

Aunt Maria had had thoughts that evening she 
did not care to express. She recalled the days of 
her young womanhood, and somebody by the name 
of Endicott who visited her native town. To this 
young stranger — how Aunt Maria wished she 
knew the teacher’s first name ! — she had silently, 
without the knowledge of any one, given her 
heart. He who possessed this treasure did not 
even know of its possession, but went away in 
ignorance of that which was his. To-night, Aunt 
Maria seemed to see in the young man’s face the 
features of another, and her heart was deeply 
stirred. 

As for Annie, she went upstairs in a very sober 
mood, and a long while she stood at her window, 


AT THE JUDGE’S. 


165 


watching the fascinating blending of snow and 
moonlight, turning away to reproach herself for 
her misbehavior during the evening. Then she 
stole remorsefully down into the dark sitting- 
room, and kneeling before the open fireplace 
stirred up the covered embers and let their 
softened glow mount up to the low ceiling and 
suffuse it with its dull crimson. She now went to 
the chair she had occupied during the evening. 
She sat down as if on a penance stool, there to do 
penance for her cool and thoughtless conduct, in 
the very spot where she had been guilty. Sud- 
denly, something made a dart under Annie’s chair. 

“ Oh ! that you, puss ? ” 

It was the tabby of the mansion, who having 
scampered under the chair, now scampered out 
again, rushing some object playfully along. 

“ What is that?” Annie wondered, noticing the 
cat’s plaything. 

She stooped to pick it up and then carried it to 
the fireplace on whose hearth was a bed of red, 
glowing coals. 

“ Why, it is a glove ! ” she exclaimed. She 
looked again. 

“ Why, it is a man’s glove ! ” Into what a 
tumult she was now thrown ! 

“ It is the master’s glove ! Did he leave it as a 
challenge, or was it a careless drop ? ” 

Only a buckskin glove lined with soft flannel ! 

“ I wonder how it would do to try it on ! ” 


166 


AT THE JUDGE’S. 


thought Annie. u I — I — don’t dare to — yes — 
I — mean to.” 

She slipped her plump hand into the glove. 
“Very warm, really! I didn’t think I should 
come so near the lion’s paw.” 

But somehow the touch of the glove thrilled 
her and her mood changed. It was not as in the 
story, Una who subdued the lion, but the lion sub- 
dued Una. As if the owner of the glove were 
present, she made a confession humble and peni- 
tent. To the master tired after the day’s draft 
upon his nervous strength and then confronted by 
his scholar’s coolness at her home, how delightful 
it would have been if he could have heard this 
soft, musical voice there in the shadowy room at 
night : 

“ I am very sorry, Sir Lion, I was so care- 
less and cool before you this evening. I like you 
better than you think for — let me see, do I like 
you ? However, I am sorry. I did not feel icy. 
I was just burning up. Could you forgive me if 
I will try to be a good girl? You throw demerits 
at me in school, and you may heap them on me 
now. All forgiven? Not a demerit? Kind old 
lion ! ” 

Is not confession sometimes very delightful to 
the penitent? 

Then she covered up the hot coals, stole softly 
upstairs, and regained her room. There, she looked 
at the glove once more. 


AT THE JUDGE’S. 


1G7 


“Ah, indeed! A little hole. I will mend it,” 
she murmured. “ He will never notice it.” 

Annie had a gift with her needle. She knew 
how to sew up a rent and make the stitches very 
small. 

It was a pretty sight to see her bowed head 
above this bit of night work. Every curve of her 
drooping form was one of grace. Her work over, 
she examined the glove, but found no other rent. 
As if she were a tabby and the glove a soft little 
mouse, she played with it awhile. 

u How would it do to put you on again ? No, 
I am afraid of you ! ” she declared. “ You dear 
little mouse, what makes me afraid of you ? ” 
She finally deposited it in a big arm-chair near the 
window where in the moonlight she could see the 
gauntlet of buckskin. Giving one more glance at 
it as if half in awe and half-amused, she left it to 
the companionship of the silent, silvery moonlight. 

The next day Pete called at the schoolhouse 
and made a very formal delivery of a small pack- 
age into the master’s hands. 

“ Oh ! ” said the schoolmaster opening it at re- 
cess, “ my missing glove ! I should have thought 
that girl might have brought it herself. What a 
girl ! Sent that colored man ! ” 

He had half a mind to demerit her because she 
had not personally delivered his property. 

Within two days, when that mended glove hap- 
pened to be lying in the sunshine, he detected 


168 


AT THE JUDGE’S. 


in the strong light the tracery of very delicate 
stitching. 

“ Ah,” he said, “ somebody been sewing that up ? 
I did have a tear there, I recollect. Good Mrs. 
Hanscom got hold of it, I suppose, and sewed it 
up. That landlady is a treasure.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THE SPELLING SCHOOL. 

A MANDA BAKER had worked out a new 
pattern of curls above her low brow, while 
Titus Potwin had bought a new bottle of hair- 
dressing for those two mounds of light-brown hair 
which he proudly sported on his head. This was 
significant of something “ goin’ on” in town. Its 
nature was disclosed in a note carefully folded 
and strongly scented, which Amanda Baker pre- 
sented with a gracious smile and a soft “ If you 
please-s, Mr. Endicott, will you read it in s-school? ” 
When Paul opened it, he read as follows: “ Will 
Mr. Endicott please oblige ” — here one or more 
words had been erased and something else written. 
The original contained a request to “ oblige 
Amanda Baker,” but as this seemed too personal, 
the indefinite expression “ many friends ” had 
been substituted. The favor was to “read this 
notice in school : 4 There will be a spelling school 
in schoolhouse number seven to-night. All good 
169 


170 


THE SPELLING SCHOOL. 


spellers are invited.’ ” This invitation Mr. Ames, 
the teacher of 44 number seven,” calling at Miles 
Baker’s store, had asked Amanda to extend in his 
behalf. She had in her own behalf added a post- 
script, “ I hope our teacher may go. A. B.” 

A significant smile swept across the faces of 
those in the 44 big girls’ seats ” at the teacher’s 
right when he read the words 44 good spellers,” but 
he added the comment that it meant, probably, all 
who were in “the large spelling class,” which 
thoughtful explanation sent another smile across 
the same row of faces. 

44 Who would go to the spelling school ? ” was 
now an anxious topic of conversation in that very 
real and earnest school-world of which Paul Endi- 
cott’s life had become a part. 

44 1 shall go if father can take me,” was Annie 
Alton’s decision. 

44 1 am going,” was Amanda’s open announce- 
ment, while her secret declaration was, 44 1 do hope 
that 4 teacher ’ will take me in his sleigh.” 

As the invitation to him had come through her, 
it seemed natural and fit that her ride should come 
through him. This seemed probable, and at least 
possible, reasoned Amanda, clutching at every 
fragment of hope. She therefore did not ask her 
father to go with her, but as the time approached 
for sleighing parties to leave the village for the 
school, she waited in the Baker sitting-room with 
an anxious heart. Several times she heard sleigh- 


THE SPELLING SCHOOL. 


171 


bells jingling merrily out on the street. They 
approached — would they stop? No; they went 
on! At last she abandoned hope, and sadly con- 
cluded, 44 1 guess he won’t call. I must ask pa to 
take me.” 

Miles Baker had been expecting to do it, but he 
wisely refrained from offering his services, knowing 
that Amanda might have another driver in mind. 
It did not offend him because Amanda might pre- 
fer another. He was a coarse-featured, black-haired 
man, with a face that was shaven and smooth the 
first part of the week, and then bristly with a stubby 
growth of beard until Sunday, which, as he said, 
was his 44 day for mowin’.” He had a coarse, 
hearty laugh, showing his strong white teeth when 
his lips parted, and as he was social in his temper- 
ament, his rough 44 haw-haw-haw ! ” would often be 
heard in the store. He was vain and selfish, but 
he loved Amanda, and to those who knew him, it 
was touching to see his devotion to the interests 
of his daughter, an only child. He was now 
willing to be Amanda’s driver to the “spellin’ 
school,” or to resign that privilege to a man 
younger and outside of the family. And that 
man was coming ! Yes, Miles caught the sound 
of sleigh bells approaching the door with a brisk, 
sharp, energetic clash, then coming to a sudden 
halt. 

“ That is 4 teacher ’ ! ” said Amanda, with a 
wildly- beating heart, as she sat alone in the 


172 


THE SPELLING SCHOOL. 


sitting-room, and somehow there was an echoing 
thought in Miles’ brain, as he stood behind his 
counter out in the store which occupied the lower 
half of the front of his home : “ That is the 
4 master.’ ” 

When Amanda opened a side door in answer to 
a knock loud and not at all bashful, there stood a 
teacher on the doorstep, but not the one Amanda 
and her father had guessed — it was Titus Potwin, 
the teacher of the school on the other side of the 
river. 

44 Come, Amanday ! Clap on your things, and 
jump into my sleigh.” 

44 Oh ! that you, Mr. Potwin ? ” 

44 Not my ghost, now I can tell ye ! Come, be 
spry ! Wanted to get round before, but couldn’t 
fetch it.” 

“I will,” said the delighted Amanda. “Won’t 
you come in 1 ” 

“Can’t. My horse is frisky. Be spry ! ” 

Tittering and trembling, the joyful Amanda 
rushed for her cloak, while at the same time Miles 
Baker held an enraptured ear down to a door 
crack. 

44 1 like that Titus. He’s got the stuff to him. 
I wouldn’t swap him for more’n fifty of that Endi- 
cott chap, with his college notions,” said Miles, 
still bowing his big red ear down to the crack of 
the door between him and the entry leading to the 
side door. He heard the Potwin bells fiercely 


THE SPELLING SCHOOL. 


173 


jingle as Titus’ sleigh was rushed away from the 
little side door, and then he exclaimed, “ Now, 
Miles, guess you and me’ll go.” 

He therefore notified his housekeeper — Miles 
was a widower — that he was u goin’ off.” Closing 
his store, he quickly harnessed his horse into his 
new sleigh, and was “ off ” for the spelling school. 
A very proper thing to do, he reasoned, inasmuch 
as he was one of the school agents in the town. 

It was a clear, moonlight night. Diana, that 
stalwart huntress of the sky, was out in all the full- 
ness of her radiant though cold beauty, pressing 
hard after that timid, shrinking host of starry 
game, whose silver flight she was sure to overtake. 
The arrows of brilliant crystal that she had rained 
down, seemed to have caught in the shrubs beside 
the road, in the forests beyond, and in the open 
fields, for a light snow falling all through the day, 
but ceasing at twilight, had whitened every object 
it could reach. Under foot it seemed as if the 
horses were breaking up floors of alabaster, or when 
a drift was reached, they were ploughing through 
folds of ocean surf, or scattering banks of white 
lilies. It was a night whose marvelous beauty 
people dwelling in cities can little appreciate. 
They fancy they know of that beaut} r , but the open 
snow-fields of the country are needed to set off the 
brilliancy of the clear, frozen light flashing down 
from the sky. 

Titus Potwin’s sleigh was halting at a wayside 


1T4 


THE SPELLING SCHOOL. 


trough, that his horse, called “ Beauty,” might have 
a drink. Suddenly a big sleigh rushed by, drawn 
by a span of horses. 

44 That is the judge’s team ! ” said Titus. 44 J udge 
Alton, Amanday ! ” 

Yes, Amanda knew the sleigh. She knew, also, 
who wore that low-crowned, broad-brimmed felt hat, 
a shawl muffling his shoulders. She did not now 
care so much about it because Paul had failed to 
call for her, and had gone off traitorously in the 
judge’s team. She had a seat in the sleigh of 
Titus Potwin, and considered him quite a trophy. 
But who was that in another sleigh ? — a lonely 
traveler quickly darting by the drinking trough. 

44 Looks like ” — 

Titus paused, for Beauty was behaving anything 
but beautifully, and demanded all of Titus’ atten- 
tion. Amanda’s thoughts were occupied also with 
the antics of the horse, so that this second party 
escaped detection. 

44 Wonder if they saw me ! Guess not ! ” said 
Miles, chuckling away, and pulling the collar of 
his fur coat closer about his long, big ears. 44 We 
overtook ’em ! Good ! ” 

44 Git up there ! ” he shouted to his beast. 
44 You’re goin’ to a spellin’ skewl, remember now ! 
You’ve got to spell ! Keep your wits about you, 
old fellar ! The skewl agent, remember, you are 
haulin’ ! ” 

The schoolhouse was a lonely square box, of a 


THE SPELLING SCHOOL. 


175 


single story, located at a point where two roads 
crossed. It was as bare and forsaken a lot as 
could have been selected in the whole town. Not 
a tree was near it to protect it from the heat of 
summer or winds of winter. It was, consequently, 
a furnace in July, and too often the coldest of re- 
frigerators in January. However, that night of the 
spelling school each window had been brightened 
with a candle or a “ fluid ” lamp, and the school- 
house was a very attractive center in the cold winter 
landscape. Around it stretched a row of teams, 
the horses well blanketed against the cold. There 
was no lack of light within, for in addition to the 
window-illuminations, many desks were furnished 
with tallow tapers that strove to do their duty 
according to the full measure of their ability, 
faithfully as any electric light of the present day. 
The seats were filled with an eager, expectant 
audience. 

Behind his desk sat Mr. Ames, the teacher in 
that district, and who was expected to preside on 
the occasion and give out the words from “Web- 
ster’s Speller.” He was at liberty to pick out any 
words between the two covers of the book. To 
a seat near him he had invited any “ visiting 
teachers.” Paul Endicott was packed away there 
when Titus Potwin arrived. Titus was well 
known, and a hum of suppressed salutation went 
around the room, only exceeded by that which 
greeted Judge Alton’s arrival. Titus was called 


176 


THE SPELLING SCHOOL. 


up to one of the seats of honor, and there, too, was 
the “ umpire,” old Mr. Gray, an ex-teacher living 
in the district. The umpire decided all questions 
that did not decide themselves. Whether a speller 
might have given a word correctly, or if the 
teacher that presided did not execute his duty 
faithfully, all such points accompanied by any 
doubt went to the umpire’s tribunal for decision. 
What he determined was final, though it might be 
as little acceptable as the decisions of umpires on 
a modern base-ball ground. 

This was the programme: Two leaders, whom 
the scholars had previously agreed upon, selected 
in turn their allies from the individuals willing to 
be contestants, and this process of selection was 
kept up until the stock of spellers was exhausted. 
Two extended lines of combatants were thus ar- 
rayed against one another, keeping their places as 
long as they could master the words given to them, 
but dropping out of the ranks into a harmless dis- 
grace when they failed to resolve a word into its 
component letters. The lines were sure to be fear- 
fully diminished when under fire, and the question 
was which side would maintain a representative 
longer in the field. 

The old-time spelling school ! Who that partici- 
pated in it can ever forget its healthy stimulus, or 
cease to feel the sorrow of any failures or joy of any 
victories? It was the arena where, as boys and 
girls, many distinguished in after life tried their 


THE SPELLING SCHOOL. 


177 


orthographic swords in close combat. When the 
famous journalist, Horace Greeley, was a little 
fellow up in Vermont, he showed unusual skill in 
spelling. He would attend the spelling-matches 
in the old schoolhouse. He was bright enough to 
participate in them, but not old enough to keep 
awake always. He might fall asleep, to be aroused, 
though, by a nudging neighbor, when his turn 
came. Opening his eyes and spelling his word, he 
would then drop asleep again, napping till another 
word came. So the story runs. Ergo : the spell- 
ing school helped make Horace Greeley. 

In the district where the present spelling school 
was held, John Baker, Miles’ brother, was agent. 
The scholars had chosen John’s daughter, Almira, 
as one leader, and knowing that Amanda was 
coming, they purposed to make her the other 
leader as a matter of courtesy, although she was 
u out of the deestrick.” Amanda did not shrink 
from any responsibilities hereby incurred, and her 
ready confidence won the admiration of her father, 
and also his silent comment, “ She’s a chip of the 
old block ” — a very true remark, though some 
might not esteem Amanda any more highly for 
this resemblance. 

The schoolroom was full. Old folks as well as 
young ones came. How it was that the tall folks 
and the fat ones found room for arms and legs 
and bodies in those cramped-up desks, they alone 
could have told. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE CONTEST BEGINS. 

HE buzzing contestants in the schoolhouse 



J- were hushed at last, and Mr. Ames re- 
marked : 

“ Ladies and gentlemen, we meet to-night to 
hold a spelling school. Of course, it will devolve 
on me to give out the words. Mr. Gray has con- 
sented to act as umpire. The leaders selected for 
the two sides are Miss Almira Baker and Miss 
Amanda Baker. They will please pick their sides, 
and I am requested to say that Miss Amanda Baker 
has the first pick.” 

The two young ladies thus designated went to 
opposite sides of the room, each taking her position 
in a remote corner and there facing each other in 
readiness for the expected combat. 

Each had an anxious face, for they were as eager 
to make sure of the best spellers for their respect- 
ive sides as an energetic boy in cherry time is to 
get into the cherry-tree reddest with delicious fruit. 


178 


THE CONTEST BEGINS. 


179 


“ Call ! ” shouted Mr. Ames, a short, fat man, 
with a sharp, aspiring voice. 

“ I choose ” — 

It was Amanda Baker exercising her first right 
of choice, but she now hesitated. 

There was great suspense. Who would be 
Amanda’s selection? Of course she would pick 
the best speller in the audience, and many hearts 
were anxious for the honor, and a still larger num- 
ber if not anxious, thought themselves equal to 
the wearing of this crown. Ambition fluttered in 
its nest with expectation. Amanda hesitated, but 
in her soft, sibilant tones she began again : 

“ I choose-s Titus-s-s — Potwin ! ” 

Yes; it was very evident; Amanda’s first choice 
was the great Titus. He was ranked by her as 
the noblest cherry on the tree, but was she sure of 
her fruit ? 

There was a very audible titter from the audi- 
ence, a twisting of necks to see Titus, while this 
royal Roman grinned and looked toward the um- 
pire in a momentary bewilderment. Mr. Gray was 
ready : ♦ 

“I suppose visiting teachers are generally ex- 
empt from duty, same as men of forty-five are not 
obliged ordinarily by our Government to go to war, 
but it will make it more interesting if any of those 
present will take part.” 

It was the boast of Titus that he was ready for 
any emergency. A favorite motto of pure Potwin 


180 


THE CONTEST BEGINS. 


authorship was this : “ Emergency makes the man ; 
let the man be ready for the emergency.” He 
promptly sprang forward, almost upsetting his 
chair, and his voice rang through the schoolhouse : 

“ I am ready.” 

The audience began to applaud, for Titus, as a 
man “ town-raised,” to use his own expression, 
was a great favorite with all who had never gone 
away from home, and who hoped that by hugging 
home they could equal the “ college larned and 
sich like.” They were certainly correct in their 
fancies to this extent, that without self-culture no 
man or woman, however great their advantages, 
will ever harvest a large sheaf of results. Titus 
was a noted speller, and not a bashful one. He 
hemmed vigorously, and striding down the aisle 
with a heavy, pompous step, took his stand beside 
the blushing and smiling Amanda. Somebody else 
was delighted — Miles Baker, hidden away from 
Amanda behind a big, fat butcher. Miles rubbed 
his hands in quiet, grinning joy. 

There were two or three persons in that audi- 
ence who were not so well pleased. Titus’ sum- 
mons to the strife was ominous. 

“ O, dear ! ” thought the shuddering Paul. 
“ Shall I have to go ? ” 

Paul did not like to be an object for public con- 
templation and criticism. It might be a weakness, 
but while he could face a cannon, he did not like 
to have everybody see him do it. He rather shrank 


THE CONTEST BEGINS. 


181 


from criticism, either to give or receive it. He 
could be aroused to that degree of daring where 
he would defy public opinion, but he was modest, 
and he was naturally a bit timid in facing criticism. 
To-night, if called out, what if he should miss a 
word ? He felt that he would give a good deal 
for a share of Titus Potwin’s brass. Titus could 
have sold a large quantity of the article, as he was 
a heavy dealer in it, and where he lacked in gold, 
he put in this substitute promptly. Confidence 
and effort may send one over a ditch. A timid 
muscle hesitates on the brink, and ends by tum- 
bling in. Must Paul be forced to jump the ditch, 
and jump into it, maybe ? All uncertainty was 
ended by the call of Almira Baker’s clear voice : 

“I choose Mr. Endicott.” 

The interest in the audience was now intense. 
People chuckled away, while Miles forgot himself, 
and slapped his fat neighbor heavily on the back. 

“ Now there’ll be music ! ” he intended to whisper, 
but spoke so loud that everybody within twenty 
feet could hear him. 

“ Music ! Ow-w ! ” grunted the fat man. “ I 
ain’t your drum ! ” 

Paul Endicott quickly made up his mind that 
he must take his turn with the rest, and while he 
preferred to stay a lamb, still he could and did go 
to his place like a lion, stepping off as decidedly 
and proudly as any admiring pupil could have 
wished. 


182 


THE CONTEST BEGINS. 


“ I choose Annie Alton,” said Amanda. 

“ Oh ! ” was Annie’s startled exclamation. She 
was one who had been fearing this, but being out 
of the district, hoped she might escape. There 
was no escape from the two all-grasping cherry 
pickers. 

She rose and took her place beside “ that hateful 
Potwin,” as she silently labeled him. Her only 
consolation was that it would be “ fun to be on 
the side against the lion.” The lion did not look 
happy to see this disposition made of his scholar. 

Another person present thought he might be 
brought to the executioner’s block, but on account 
of his age and being a “ visitor,” he hoped he might 
be excused. The ax, though, awaited him. 

“I choose Judge Alton,” said Almira. Judge 
Alton blushed, but rose up with soldier-like 
promptness, and stood beside Paul Endicott. 

The people noticed it with peculiar pleasure. 
“ He’s one of us,” was the silent thought of many, 
while Miles said to his fat neighbor, slapping him : 

“Good for the jedge ! Your turn will come 
next.” 

“ Don’t hit me ag’in ! ” said the fat man, “ and 
look to hum ; ” and Miles soon had occasion to 
heed this advice. 

“I choose Uncle John,” was Amanda’s next call. 
This pick was simply complimentary, for Uncle 
John was not a rare cherry when it came to the 
fruits of learning. 


THE CONTEST BEGINS. 


18 B 


“ I choose Uncle Miles,” exclaimed Almira, de- 
termined to be equally polite. 

Amanda gave a start. She did not know her 
father was there ; but he was there, and rising up 
behind that adjoining and screening wall of flesh 
— the butcher — grinning as proudly as any one. 
“ Don’t know how I am coming out,” he thought, 
“ but I am goin’ into it ! ” He went to his place 
as promptly as Titus Potwin. Miles did not have 
brains enough to be a leader among men, but as 
he did not have sense enough to be second and a 
follower, his audacity would sometimes take him 
into a front place. No one could say how soon 
Miles might be hit and drop out of the ranks, but 
that did not worry him. Amanda trembled for 
“ Pa,” but “ Pa ” was as confident as if he carried 
the contents of a spelling-book between the walls 
of his empty brain. 

“Proud to be beside ye, Jedge ! ” whispered 
Miles. 

“ Thank you ; and I am glad to have your 
company.” 

“ Jedge, ’tween you and me, we’ll rake ’em right 
and left.” 

“ I hope so, Miles, but for myself, I feel a little 
shaky.” 

“ I don’t a bit.” 

“I wish I had a spelling-book. I did not antici- 
pate this.” 

“I wouldn’t give a snap for all the spellers 


184 


THE CONTEST BEGINS. 


’tween here and Missisouri. Go it on your grit, I 
say, Jedge.” 

44 I’ve got to go on something, but I feel, Miles, 
as if I had lost all I ever had,” whispered the 
judge. 

44 Mine hasn’t. I’m chuck full.” 

Miles spoke as he felt, and gave Amanda on the 
other side of the room an encouraging wink. It 
was lost on that valiant Amazonian leader of 
armies in the day of battle, for she was holding up 
a ready ear to Titus Potwin’s whispered conun- 
drum — 44 Guess what I am ? ” 

44 Oh ! I can’t, to s-s-save save me,” simpered the 
languishing Amanda. 

44 A rose ’tween two thorns.” 

44 Shet up ! The s-spellin’ is goin’ to begin.” 

All the desirable cherries had been picked. The 
seats looked as bare and stripped as a cherry-tree 
when two lively boys have gone through its 
branches. On opposite sides of the room were 
the long lines of ardent but smiling combatants. 
Even the fat butcher had gone into the fight. So 
incongruous was the assortment of combatants 
that he stood opposite a small boy of ten, but an 
excellent speller for his years. It was the old 
array of David and Goliath, and as in former times, 
Goliath was to fall and leave David standing. 

Mr. Ames managed his duties very adroitly. 
He strove to adapt his words to the people that he 
addressed. He knew that Titus Potwin had an 


THE CONTEST BEGINS. 


185 


excellent reputation as an English speller, and as 
he did not wish to offend Titus, aware that Titus’ 
influence would be desirable in securing future 
opportunities for school-keeping, he strove to give 
Titus those words that had not come down from 
the Latin and Greek. As he himself once had 
studied Latin, and twice had failed to master 
Greek, he thought he could tell words from these 
two languages as soon as he saw them, and he re- 
solved not to deal them out to Titus. “ There’s 
John Baker ! I want to keep on the right side of 
him,” he reasoned. “ He knows all about a farm, 
and I’ll give him farm words, or trees, say. I’ll 
give Miles store words. He’s a school agent, and 
I want to keep on the right side of him, and I’ll 
give Amanda an easy word to start on, and follow 
it up with something easy and domestic, say. 
Judge Alton — I will give him something military 
or about the law. As for that young chap from 
college, that other schoolmaster, I’ll give him — 
‘ Hail, Columby ! ’ ” 

He shook his head. He did not fancy this 
young “ upstart ” from college, and he silently re- 
solved to have no mercy, but slaughter him as 
soon as possible. The short, fat teacher was jeal- 
ous. In accordance with the above programme, 
he gave out his first word to Amanda. 

“ Proceed ! ” The aptness of this was recog- 
nized by the school, and Amanda spelled it with 
confidence and correctness. 


186 


THE CONTEST BEGINS, 


“ Succeed ! ” cried the conductor, turning to 
Almira on the other side. 

This, too, was considered a fit word to follow 
Amanda’s, and with a smiling, blushing face, 
Almira promptly dispatched it. 

Titus Potwin’s chance to distinguish himself 
was on the word “ schoolhouse,” and the next 
word came to Paul. 

“ Freshman ! ” yelled Mr. Ames. 

If Paul had been a Sophomore in college, he 
might have resented this as intentional, which it 
was, undoubtedly. Being a Junior and beyond 
the reach of class jealousy, he blandly spelled 
his word. 


CHAPTER XY. 

THE CONTEST GOES ON. 

T HE words flew from side to side, the partici- 
pants blushing, straining their ears, rolling 
their eyes, giving every sign of excitement, and all 
preserving their good nature. The fat man was 
first popped over. The conductor grew sociable 
when he reached John Drake, this fleshy speller’s 
name, and forgetting himself called out, “Booby, 
John ! ” The candidate tied the words together, 
and stammering, his face reddening and eyes 
widening, confusedly replied, “B-b-u, bu, b-y, by, 
buby, J-j-o-h-n, J-john, buby-John!” 

The schoolhouse was in an uproar. 

“I s-spelled-it-as-he-g-give-it,” said John. 

The umpire mildly reproved the conductor and 
ordered him to separate the words and allow one 
more trial, but “ boo-by ” was still spelled “buby,” 
and amid a roar of laughter John Drake squeezed 
himself down into a seat much too small for him. 
The word apparently went to the next on the other 
187 


188 


THE CONTEST GOES ON. 


side and was spelled, but realty it clung to John 
Drake, for this unfortunate speller was ever after 
known as “Booby John” all -through the town. 
His failure was ominous. A kind of panic seized 
the spellers soon after this. At first it was a care- 
lessness that came with the merriment over John’s 
blunder. What was the confusion of carelessness 
soon became a nervous rout. Speller after speller 
went down before the words hurled at them. 
Every shot told. The carnage was frightful. 
The number of those fatally struck and dropping 
into the seats increased rapidly. Those who had 
gone through previous spelling-matches unscathed, 
fell that night like maple leaves in October. So 
great was the excitement, so extensive the slaugh- 
ter, that in after winters, people spoke of “ that 
spellin’ school in number seven,” and did not need 
to be more explicit. John Baker, the agent in 
number seven, had for awhile spelled the easy 
“ farm words ” assigned him by the politic con- 
ductor. He had gone at them like a yeoman, ax 
in hand, for all were names of trees, and he had 
felled them successfully and vigorously. At last, 
came the word “ hickory.” 

“ Hick-er-y ! ” shouted the school agent. 

Down he went like forest growth before his own 
sharp ax. Miles had been furnished with words 
whose range was that of his store, twenty by 
nineteen, and he had tackled and mastered them 
all from “ nutmeg ” on to “ molasses.” At last 


THE CONTEST GOES ON. 


189 


there came at his head not separate items but all 
his goods in a mass. “ Groceries ! Gro-ce-ries ! ” 
bawled the conductor. It seemed like a mitrail- 
leuse discharge. 

Hitherto, when an article was to be spelled, 
Miles would imagine he was in his store and 
would recall the boxes and jars and chests and 
barrels daily about him, and would see if any 
label on them would give the word thrown at him. 
In that way, he would grasp the needed article, 
bundle up its letters, getting them all in even if 
not properly divided, and send back promptly and 
energetically the missile thrown at him. 

“ Gro-ce-ries ! ” said the conductor again to the 
now hesitating Miles, for he could not seem to 
recall it on any box. Was it not on some bill- 
head in his desk? It was found necessary to 
“ time ” the hesitating, and the umpire, watch in 
hand, began to say, “Time is up,” when Miles 
started out in one more effort to find “ groceries,” 
take it to pieces, bundle it up again and in good 
shape deliver it back to the conductor. He felt 
that he was in a growing and confusing darkness, 
but he manfully made an effort. “ Gro-ce-res ! ” 
he shrieked and saw that he was doomed. “ Fid- 
dlesticks ! ” exclaimed Miles. Down he dropped, 
fatally wounded, and the word went to the other 
side and was spelled. 

Amanda, through the conductor’s helpfulness, 
had spelled the easy “ domestic ” words assigned 


190 


THE CONTEST GOES ON. 


her, but at last came one over which she stumbled 
badly as if a foreigner who had not mastered 
English. 

“ Sieve ! ” 

The Homeric darkness of death that had come 
over her father was now settling upon her mental 
vision. It was ominous, and she felt that her 
hour had come, but she gasped and said feebly, 
“ S-s-e-i-v-e, seive.” 

The conductor shook his head. 

“ La ! ” pettishty sighed the Amazonian leader. 
She turned up her nose and subsided. A sigh 
went down her line of survivors. 

“ Sieve ! ” called out the conductor to Almira. 

She could have spelled the word an hour ago, 
but when a panic sets in, whether it be on the 
battle field or in the spelling school, there is no 
accounting for results. 

“ S-e-e-v-e,” said Almira, and her days were 
numbered. Another sigh. The word returned to 
the other side. 

“S-i-e-v-e, sieve,” said Titus Potwin, properly 
separating the word and then properly gathering 
it up and returning it. When so many were fall- 
ing on either side, it was good to hear Titus’ voice 
rising up vigorously, rolling onward triumphantly, 
bringing home in good condition the standards of 
this wordy war. Miles forgot his own discomfiture 
in his growing admiration of Titus, and began to 
think he might make a good son-in-law. 


THE CONTEST GOES ON. 


191 


At Judge Alton had been aimed the military- 
word “ cannoneer,” and, thoughtlessly leaving out 
an ft, he collapsed. “ Oh, what a fool ! ” exclaimed 
the judge, blushing and giggling like a girl, and 
dropping into the seat nearest him. His downfall 
made him all the more popular, for the people 
were still more fully convinced that he was one of 
them. At last, on one side stood Paul Endicott, 
cheery and victorious, and on the other, Titus 
Potwin and Annie Alton, and all of these were 
hopeful and eager. It was now Titus’ turn to 
spell. 

“ I will give Titus good Saxon words,” Mr. Ames 
had said to himself again and again, favoring 
him as much as possible. He had had no mercy 
on Paul. At last, Mr. Ames spied a word that 
looked a bit knotty, but in his superior knowl- 
edge fancying it English-born, he gave it out; 
“ apothegm.” A moment after, he saw his mistake 
and would have recalled it, but it was too late. 
Titus at his end of the room felt instinctively that 
a ball too big for him was on its way, but he 
resolutely prepared to dispose of it, and thrusting 
forward his big, heavy chin, and opening his mouth 
as if to catch this ball, shouted in hard, nasal 
tones, “A-p, ap, o, apo, t-h-e-m, them, apothem.” 

The moment he had finished his word, he caught 
a queer look on Judge Alton’s face and knew that 
something was wrong. The word, too, was going 
to the other side. It was a terrible moment to 


192 


THE CONTEST GOES ON. 


Titus. He was not used to defeat in a spelling 
game; he hung over his seat a moment before 
dropping into it, for he caught the sound of his ad- 
versary’s voice ; “ a-p, ap, o, apo, t-h-e-g-m, thegm, 
apothegm.” 

“ What? ” said Titus, rolling round his eyes and 
looking appealingly to the umpire. 

“You left out the g ,” said Mr. Umpire. 

“ Oh ! bah ! ” groaned Titus, and like a big sense- 
less lump of lead, he dropped into his seat. A pa- 
thetic stillness for a moment prevailed in the room, 
for there was a sorrowful amazement at the defeat 
of the great and hitherto unvanquished Titus. 

Only two were left to sustain the imperiled honor 
of their sides — Paul Endieott and his scholar, 
Annie Alton. Paul’s head drooped a bit, as if he 
could not easily face the eyes that were turned 
toward him, and his hands were clasped behind his 
back. His ears, though, were open, straining to 
catch each word, remembering faithfully an old 
college instructor’s warning that “attention made 
mechanics, sculptors and scholars.” 

“ Attention is not success,” the old instructor 
would sajq “ but there is no success without atten- 
tion.” Would attention now make a speller? 

Annie’s eyes were not hidden, but bright, lus- 
trous, she kept them fastened on the conductor, 
the keen color in her cheeks betraying her excite- 
ment. The schoolmaster had not dared to look at 
his scholar, and she turned her face from him. 


THE CONTEST GOES ON. 


193 


Word after word was given to these two contest- 
ants, and word after word was correctly given 
back by them. Annie was an excellent scholar, 
having studied Latin and French as well as English, 
and, then, the conductor wishing her to succeed, 
favored her with easy words as a rule. Without 
compunction, he pelted Paul with what Judge 
Alton called “ tough knots.” The conductor, 
though, concluded at last he would relent, and 
Paul’s next word should be an easier one. Annie 
was spelling “avalanche.” She was slowly wad- 
ing through it like a tired traveler in the snow, 
when Paul, noticing her hesitancy, so unusual, 
carelessly raised his head and looked at her. Soon 
as he caught sight of her brilliant eyes, he too was 
wading in the snow that seemed to hinder Annie. 
He was recalling the night of his arrival in town. 
He was assisting a maiden with the same beautiful 
eyes, and so helping on the immortality of the old 
story of Hercules and Alcestis. Ah, he was for- 
getting that college instructor’s emphasis upon 
“ attention.” 

Alcestis had now spelled her word correctly. 
She was ready for the next trial of her skill. 
Hercules was not ready. His thoughts had been 
seriously diverted. 

In the midst of this distraction, came a word from 
the conductor : “Dangerous! ” 

Immediately Paul thought of Will Gaines’ re- 
mark about “ that rock of danger, one Alton.” 


194 


THE CONTEST GOES ON. 


The remark recurred to him so forcibly that it 
increased his abstraction, and in the midst of it he 
began to spell his word : “ D-a-n-e, dane, g-e-r, ger, 
o-u-s, dangerous.” The next moment he clapped 
his hand to his mouth, exclaiming as he smiled 
vacantly, “ Oh ! I was thinking of something 
else.” 

“ Too bad ! ” said somebody in pity, while the 
most of the audience laughed. Titus roared out a 
noisy, “ haw-haw-haw ! ” In that moment of excit- 
able confusion, Paul who blushingly was looking 
down to find a seat into which he might fall, still 
better a knot-hole in the floor through which he 
might sink out of sight, chanced to raise his eyes 
and look toward Annie. She now was facing him. 
He could never forget that look of most tender 
sympathy which came across such an unfeeling, 
unpitying and jubilant stretch of spectators as 
Amanda and Titus and Miles and others of that 
circle. The look warmed and comforted the heart? 
of the stricken schoolmaster. “ Like Wolfe, I die 
happy,” was his thought as he sank into a seat. 

Annie’s side began to clap, for she stood alone 
and thus far in triumph. Every ear was strained 
to follow her as she slowly started to spell the 
word that had come to her : “ D-a-n, dan ” — 
Here her side gave another clap as they saw their 
champion safely beyond the first syllable. 

“She looks real pretty,” whispered Titus to 
Amanda. 


THE CONTEST GOES ON. 


195 


44 Shet up ! ” said Amanda spitefully, pressing 
a sharp pin into his hard, red hand. 

Annie was ready to begin the second syllable of 
Paul’s fatal word, but she turned her beautiful, 
pitying eyes on the master. They seemed to say, 
44 Don’t worry ! you can trust me.” 

She was now spelling slowly, distinctly, “ g-e-r, 
ger, r-o-u-s, rous, dangerous.” 

Every ear was pricked up to listen. 

What had she said ? 

44 Why, Annie ! you know better ! ” exclaimed 
the astonished judge, as Annie promptly sat down. 

44 Did you say 4 o-u-s ’ ? ” quickly asked the con- 
ductor, anxious to prove that Paul was beaten. 

44 I am sorry for her and her side,” interposed 
the vigilant umpire, “ but I am certain she said, 
4 r-o-u-s, rous.’ She put in two r’s. Did you not, 
Miss Annie ? ” Miss Annie nodded her head. 

The astonishment was great, but the facts were 
undisputed. In accordance with the facts, the 
umpire said, 44 1 declare this a drawn game. Both 
sides did well, but neither triumphed.” 

Amid a furious buzzing, the spelling school 
broke up. 

44 Why, Annie, what was the matter with you ? ” 
the judge said to her more than once that night 
before bedtime. 

In her diary, she wrote this, when upstairs in 
her room : 44 Pa is astonished to think I could not 
or did not spell 4 dangerous.’ How could I explain 


196 


THE CONTEST GOES ON. 


to him? Was I going to let it be said that our 
lion was vanquished by one of his lambs, and a 
very frisky one in school? Never. Under the 
same circumstances, I would purposely spell a 
word wrong a hundred times.” 

In all which Annie showed the nature of a true 
woman. As for the schoolmaster, he wrote in his 
diary : “ Went to a spelling school and never want 
to go again, unless I can behave better and not 
lose my head. There was a fat man who couldn’t 
spell ‘ booby,’ and they have already nicknamed 
him for that reason ‘Booby John.’ I think there 
is also a Booby Paul. But why did the girl fail? 
I must say I like her.” 

Ah, Sir Schoolmaster, you are young and she is 
young. Look out for that rock of danger ! 

School teachers, like other mortals, have dreams. 
That night of the spelling school, Paul Endicott 
took his turn at dreaming. It was not the old 
scene of Hercules wresting Alcestis from the 
clutches of the lower world, but a rescue of Her- 
cules by Alcestis. A threatening monster, a kind 
of Cerberus, with manifold heads, rose up before 
the dreamer. Each head showed the face of Titus 
Potwin ; each face grinned horribly. Across each 
forehead, glared in hideously bright letters the 
awful legend, “ Webster’s Speller ! ” 

Cerberus then rushed upon Hercules, roaring, 
“ Spell dangerous !” Hercules hesitated and would 
have stammered out a blunder. Alcestis in quick 


THE CONTEST GOES ON. 


197 


sympathy sprang to the help of poor Hercules, and 
defiantly faced Cerberus, at the same time in clear- 
est, sweetest music, spelling, “ D-a-n, dan, g-e-r, 
ger, danger, o-u-s, ous, dangerous ! ” In all her 
triumphant beauty, she was reaching out a hand 
to Hercules when — he awoke ! 

“ There ! ” groaned the schoolmaster, rubbing 
his eyes. “ Dreams always end where they begin 
to be interesting. ,, 


CHAPTER XVI. 


SLAVE BEN’S BENEFIT. 

SOFT, rich, plaintive voice was singing. A 



parlorful of people at Judge Alton’s sat 
listening sympathetically. 

This was a single ripple in the song whose easy 
flow was like that of a brook, but it was the brook 
in the depths of the forest, a dark shadow veiling 
its surface : 


“ Nobuddy knows de trubbul I’be seen.” 


There was a ray of sunlight falling through the 
shadows and gilding the dark floor : 


“ Nobuddy — but — Jesus.” 


It was Pomona singing in the entertainment 
given under the Alton roof in behalf of that poor 
slave Ben anxious to win his freedom. 

In the front tier of listeners was Sammy Hans- 


SLAVE BEN’S BENEFIT. 


199 


com brought by Paul to hear the music. The 
master had observed that Sammy had a good voice 
and enjoyed, too, the singing of others, and the 
obliging Paul had hauled him on his sled down to 
the judge’s. Sammy had offered to haul his grand- 
mother, but she thought she had better stay at 
home and look after a little knitting work for 
Sammy. 

“ If some folks go, Sammy, to concerts and wear 
out their stockin’s, other folks must stay at home 
and make them some new ones. But really, 
Sammy, I am tizzeky to-night, and I musn’t go 
out,” explained the old lady. “ You listen for me, 
and tell me about it.” 

Sammy listened to the singing of Pomona, and 
something in the song, something in the singing, 
strangely quieted his restless nature. We may re- 
call thoughts of N. P. Willis in which he delight- 
fully speaks of “unwritten music.” He tells of 
the various sounds of nature, and so skillfully 
tells that all the air seems to tremble with their 
sweetness and fullness. Finally, he speaks of that 
marvelous music-maker, the human voice. I 
thought of its power in church at a funeral ser- 
vice one day when four male voices in the high 
singers’ gallery, without the aid of any instrument, 
sent out under the lofty, vaulted roof a restrained 
yet rich, deep flow of sympathetic melody. 

Opposite the gallery was a great east window 
rich in color and representing the descent of the 


200 


SLAVE BEN’S BENEFIT. 


hymning Christmas angels to the fields of Bethle- 
hem. As there is a subtle connection between 
sound and color, it might have seemed as if that 
wave of melody sweeping eastward from the gal- 
lery, struck that window and dissolved like a 
breaker on the shore, parting and falling in all 
jeweled shades, the very subject of the Christmas 
decoration suggesting that it was music here com- 
ing into form, harmony clothing itself in color. 
The music in the galkiay though — the imagined 
foundation of these lovely effects — was only the 
outflow of the human voice. 

An organ was near the singers, but it was dumb. 
Its voice would have been no addition, that day. 
This little instrument in the throat was superior to 
any pipes boxed up in that pretentious organ-case. 

Sammy could not possibly have caught his frag- 
mentary thoughts and shaped them in language, 
but confused and broken, the above idea was in 
his sensitive brain when he whispered to Paul, 
“She — she — beats any pi-an-ner or or-gin I ever 
heard.” 

Pomona sang the song Judge Alton heard at the 
lumber camp : 

“ Nobuddy knows de trubbul I’be seen, 

Nobuddy but Jesus.” 

Pomona’s soul was in Pomona’s voice. Like a 
startled hind fleeing to the shaded coverts of the 
forest, she trembled and stole away and hid in the 


SLAVE BEN’S BENEFIT. 


201 


arms of the Saviour. Sammy listened, the hot tears 
trickling down his cheeks. 

He was a very eager listener also when Paul 
gave a recitation. Sammy thought it was wonder- 
ful — Whittier’s 44 Angels of Buena Vista.” 

44 O, Grandmother ! ” said Sammy when he told 
her about it the next day, 44 you ought to have 
heard the master say some verses.” 

44 What were they about? ” 

“About some angels, Grandmother, and men 
fighting. He has got it in a book, and I saw it in 
his room.” 

44 Couldn’t you git it for me and say it ? ” 

44 1 will ask him.” 

He borrowed it, and standing up in a chair, tried 
to read like the master. He stumbled over the 
long words, but grandmother was so kind as to say 
it was very good, and several times wiped her 
eyes. 

44 Your uncle Ajux — Sammy” — 

44 What was lost at sea ? ” 

44 Yes,” sighed the old lady. 44 He was very 
good at speakin’ pieces.” 

44 He did not hitch but once, Grandmother, the 
master didn’t. The piece made him, he felt so 
bad.” That “hitch” occurred when Paul raised 
his eyes to catch a sight of the supposed invaders 
who had come down from the North into Mexico* 
and were now pressing forward in Buena Vista’s 
bloody battle : 


202 


SLAVE BEN’S BENEFIT. 


“Look forth once more, Ximena!” “Ah! the smoke has 
rolled away; 

And I see the Northern rifles gleaming down the ranks of 
gray. 

Hark! that sudden blast of bugles! there the troop of 
Minon wheels ; 

There the Northern horses thunder, with the cannon at their 
heels.” 

Paul imagined the Northmen to be thundering 
along the judge’s hall. 

As he looked toward the door opening into the 
hall, suddenly, unexpectedly, what did he see ? A 
gentleman stood in the doorway. He did not face 
Paul, but looked along the line of the hall, and 
Paul caught a glimpse of the profile of the 
stranger. It was the sharply, finely cut profile 
which Paul saw when he helped that man in dis- 
grace, the wild, stormy night of his coming to 
town. Peeping over the stranger’s shoulder were 
the eyes of Alcestis ! Paul could not see the lower 
part of Alcestis’ face, but there were the eyes as 
strikingly beautiful as ever. Paul so intimately 
associated the thought of danger with that deli- 
cately carved face and those fascinating eyes, that 
it seemed as if he must drop his book and rush for- 
ward to a work of rescue. 

Gasping, he repeated the line of the poem — 

‘ ‘ Down they go, the brave — young — riders ! ” 

Then he stared and thought of Alcestis and her 


SLAVE BEN’S BENEFIT. 


203 


companion upset in the snow. In silence he stared 
straight before him. Trying to recover himself, 
he muttered on, “ Alas, alas ! ” a regret the poet 
never breathed in that place. 

“ Horse and foot together fall! ” 

confusedly cried Paul, still staring at Alcestis and 
her companion. Gradually he staggered up into 
perpendicular, and went through the recitation. 

Hearty applause followed, for his embarrass- 
ment was attributed to the emotional sentiment of 
the piece and any hesitancy or confusion was con- 
sidered “good acting.” He left the applause 
quickly behind him, for he was impatient to reach 
and explore that hall. On his way he was be- 
sought by Judge Alton to “lend a hand” and help 
move some furniture in the way of one part of the 
programme. 

He gave his help, but when he explored the hall, 
Alcestis and her companion had gone ! 

Aunt Maria, though, was there. 

“ Thank you for that fine recitation, Mr. Endi- 
cott, and I congratulate ” — 

“ Oh ! it was poor.” 

“ Don’t say that. It is a great thing in art to act 
naturally any sentiment, and I saw how your sym- 
pathy went out to those young riders prostrate ” — 

“ Oh ! thank you ; don’t mention it, please. 
Where is Annie, may I ask, and when does her part 


204 


SLAVE BEN’S BENEFIT. 


come ? for she has one.” Here he looked round 
for Alcestis. 

“ Oh ! I don’t know ; but, Mr. Endicott ” — 
Aunt Maria looked intently into the young man’s 
face as she spoke. She had something of impor- 
tance that she wished to mention — “ may I ask 
what your father’s name was, Mr. Endicott, or 
what it is rather, for our friends do not lose their 
names when they leave us ? ” 

“ My father’s name ? Sidney, Miss Alton. Did 
you ever know him ?” 

Aunt Maria was relieved from a painful embar- 
rassment when her brother came up abruptly, and 
in his energetic way begged for another lift from 
the schoolmaster. Paul retired. Aunt Maria re- 
mained, her face pale, her heart fluttering. She 
was not willing to share her discovery with any 
one. She had opened a box from which issued the 
fragrance of a delightful memory. She could not 
let another breathe it, at least not that night. 

Later in the evening, Annie appeared on the 
parlor platform, and sang a pensive old ballad. It 
was quiet, but very affecting, the schoolmaster 
thought. It was an appeal to the strong in behalf 
of the weak. Paul wanted to ask her about that 
weak being over whose shoulder had looked the 
calm but searching eyes of Alcestis that evening, 
but Sammy was inseparable and inexorable, and the 
master was obliged to start for home at an early 
hour, dragging a loaded sled after him. 


SLAVE BEN’S BENEFIT. 


205 


The Alcestis mystery had come up into the 
light again, but the mystery itself was darker 
than ever. 

Annie came to school the next morning. SJie 
wore on cold winter days a red and white cro- 
cheted hood. On her shoulders, was a red shawd 
whose bright shade suggested warmth and comfort. 

Her advent inside the schoolroom door was gen- 
erally the signal for a very animated rush at her by 
the other big girls of her set, Patty Weeks and 
Sallie Ricker. Seizing her as if a very desirable 
prize, they would triumphantly hurry her into the 
dressing-room, all the giggling group disappearing 
behind its door. Emerging from this retreat, 
Annie might linger at the fire and for a few min- 
utes hold out to it her chilled hands. The morn- 
ing after the entertainment, Paul was stirring up 
the fire in the big wood stove when Annie ap- 
proached it. 

“ Good-morning,” said the schoolmaster. “Did 
vou make much money at the entertainment last 
night?” 

“ Good-morning. I think we did well. We are 
very much obliged to you, Mr. Endicott.” 

She said this emphatically, warmly. The school- 
master had felt rather chilled, as the morning was 
cold and the fire in the stove was sluggish. Her 
gratitude was like an armful of dry pine wood on 
the fire, and he felt warm at once. 

“ Yes, very much obliged,” she said again. 


206 


SLAVE BEN’S BENEFIT, 


“ Please don’t speak of it.” 

Was it not a good time now to get information? 

He asked, 44 Did I not see you out in the hall ? ” 

44 Hall ? I dare say.” 

44 But you left, or you were not there all the 
time.” 

44 O, no ! ” 

44 Excuse me, but where did you go ? ” he asked 
boldly. 44 Who was with you, may I ask ? ” 

44 Oh ! ” said she quizzically, 44 that would be 
telling.” 

An arch, roguish look was in her bright eyes, 
and she walked away quietly to her desk. 

44 1 have a great mind to demerit you,” thought 
the master. 44 Alcestis is a witch, that is my 
opinion.” 

He wanted to walk up to Annie Alton’s corner 
and tell her she was a witch, and remind her of 
the old Salem times when at successive dates on 
Witch Hill for witchcraft nineteen human beings 
dangled between earth and sky, suspended from 
that abominable device, the gallows — a form of 
barbarity perpetuated even to this day. Would Al- 
cestis, the being who could come and go so 
strangely, who would not confess her mythical 
pranks, reform her evil ways, get down from her 
witch-broomstick, and behave like mortals ? Annie 
Alton, though, had hopelessly gone and was re- 
ceived by a flock of chatting girls to the back 
seat, and the schoolmaster’s only revenge was sav- 


SLAVE BEN’S BENEFIT. 


207 


agely and before the usual time, to ring them to 
order. 

It was at recess that Patty Weeks and Annie 
Alton took a walk to the post-office. There was 
a snowfall in progress, and the merry whirl of the 
snowflakes affected the spirits of Paul’s scholars, 
and their thoughts and words were as animated as 
those white, dancing crystals. “ O, Annie ! when 
I think of our ride last night, I must say we did 
splendid, if I do say it. Just think ! Thirty dol- 
lars ! O, my! You can’t pick up thirty dollars 
every day for a poor slave any more than you can 
have a snowstorm pretty as this when you want 
it. How was it that you thought of it ? ” 

44 1 am sure I don’t know how it was it popped 
into my mind, any more than I know how those 
flakes come down. Lovely ! Just see that big 
flqjse ! And see the little ones ! Like a big, woolly 
sheep and a lot of tiny lambs after it! Well, I 
told father I wanted to do all I could, and then I 
somehow thought of this : 4 Father, I will tell you 
what,’ I said. ‘After school, let Patty and me 
take 44 Nanny ” — she does not know enough to run 
away with us — and we’ll go round and see some 
folks that can’t come to-night, but feel friendly, and 
I dare say they’ll give me something.’ 4 Quite an 
idea ! ’ said father, playing with his spoon. 4 There 
is the Fairbanks family on the other side of the 
river — old Squire Sam and his wife, great friends 
of the slave — and I know they would give some- 


208 


SLAVE BEN’S BENEFIT. 


thing. I can make out quite a list of those who 
would give, and, Annie,’ said father, warming up 
you know as he always does — Oh ! what a gay lot 
of snowflakes ! — 4 and, Annie, I shouldn’t be sur- 
prised if we could get enough given to make up 
our proceeds to one hundred dollars, and that will 
give poor Ben his freedom. Try it ! ’ So we tried 
it, Patty, and you know the rest. You were splen- 
did to help so much.” 

“ But you were the one to put it through. You 
are real generous.” 

“ Stop ! ” 

Annie was generous, though she would not ac- 
cept Patty’s adjective. Patty could give also, but 
with Annie, giving was an instinct as much as a 
principle. Annie loved to scatter her possessions 
to right and left; Patty could be as self-denying, 
but she must think about it, bring her conscience 
to bear on the subject, and then she would take off 
the lid of her treasure-casket and fling out her 
precious stones. The lid was off Annie’s casket 
all the time. Such givers as Annie are not always 
as wise as the Pattys in society, but if in trouble 
of any kind, you will be more sure of a prompt 
hearing from the Annie-kind than the Patty. The 
girls chatted away, and Annie finally said, 44 O, 
Patty ! what do you suppose Mr. Endicott said ? ” 

44 1 don’t know.” 

44 You know we were late for the entertainment, 
as naturally we would be, going to those different 


SLAVE BEN’S BENEFIT. 


209 


places. What do you suppose Mr. Endicott said 
this morning ? He asked where I went and who 
was with me.” 

“ And you didn’t tell him?” asked Patty, 
secretly hoping Annie did tell. 

u Of course not ! He need not think he carries 
m his pocket the key to everything.” 

“ What did you say ? ” 

“ 4 Oh ! that would be telling,’ I said.” 

Patty was sorry that Annie did not let the mas- 
ter unlock this secret. 

“ He wanted to know, too, if he did not see me 
in the hall. I told him 4 1 dare say.’ Of course I 
was in the hall and out of it too.” 

Patty longed to know if her whereabouts were 
definitely sought by the master, but a fresh, fasci- 
nating flurry of snowflakes won Annie’s attention, 
and the subject of conversation was changed. 

Paul resolved to try on his landlady that sup- 
posed key in his pocket, when they were sitting 
alone in the evening before the bustling open fire. 

“ Mrs. Hanscom, has Annie Alton any question- 
able acquaintances ? ” asked Paul, thinking of 
Alcestis and her companion in Judge Alton’s hall, 
the evening before. 

“ Any questions — she — ” 

“ Any acquaintances not the most desirable ? ” 

“I — I should hope not, a gal that is the jedge’s 
daughter.” 

“ Any — lady — any — gentleman ? ” 


210 


SLAVE BEN’S BENEFIT. 


“Why, no!” 

“ Humph ! ” said the schoolmaster. 

Then he looked long and moodily at the fire, 
wondering if he had better let Judge Alton know 
that his daughter had undesirable acquaintances. 

His landlady watched him, shaking her head. 
He went upstairs, still thinking busily. 

Soon he heard a soft little tap on the door. 
When he opened it and looked out into the shadowy 
entry, he saw no one there. Then he brought his 
lamp and looking out, muttered, “ Strange ! ” In 
a moment, he exclaimed, “Ah! what is that?” 
Thrusting out his head, at one side of the door, he 
saw a jug of hot water, and he could smell a bowl 
of dark thorough wort tea. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

ANOTHER MYSTERY. 

T HE morning after the entertainment at Judge 
Alton’s, Paul found a letter in the post- 
office and he read it in school. 

It was from his old college-chum, Will Gaines. 
It gave various Brunswick items and then changed 
to something entirely personal. 

“ Paul, I want to ask a favor of you. I have a 
brother, as you well know, who is a student at 
Columbia College, or has been, for I am sorry to 
say Frank made a mistake, got into some scrape, 
and has been suspended. I did not know of this 
until recently. My home is at the West, you 
know, and the mails have been interrupted by the 
bad, very bad weather. Frank was slow himself 
about writing, felt ashamed, and soon — but the 
long and the short of it is that having his choice to 
go to his home or board at the home of an old friend 
of father’s, he preferred to do the latter, rather 
than be seen at home disgraced. And where do 
211 


212 


ANOTHER MYSTERY. 


you imagine the home of father’s old friend is ? — 
somewhere in your neighborhood. Now can’t you 
hunt him up? If I find out the exact location, 
road and so on, I will let you know. Poor Frank ! 
Generous-hearted fellow, but impulsive, and I am 
afraid his habits are not the best. He is fearfully 
shy, and you will have to dig him out, wherever 
he is. I will write him about you, and on the 
other hand, you keep your eyes and ears open for 
him, won’t you ? ” 

“ I certainly will do all I can,” was Paul’s silent 
comment on the letter, “ but I find here no more 
clue to the whereabouts of Frank Gaines than I 
have to my lost traveling bag. However, I might 
ask at the post-office if they can give me any in- 
formation about one Frank Gaines, if letters come 
for him and so on.” 

He wrote a note at once to the postmistress, and 
at recess sent it off by Sammy. School was in ses- 
sion when Sammy returned. 

“ What did she say, Sammy ? ” asked Paul, stop- 
ping the messenger on his way to his desk. 

“She says she don’t know nothing, Mr. En- 
dicott.” 

“ Don’t know nothing ? That means she knows 
something.” 

“She — she don’t know about that man. No 
letters come for him.” 

“ Oh ! ” exclaimed Paul. 

That was all he said, but this monosyllable was 


ANOTHER MYSTERY. 


213 


significant. It meant that another mystery had 
been sprung upon him. If at the post-office he 
could not learn about Frank Gaines, where could 
he find the clue to guide him out of this labyrinth? 

Annie Alton and Patty Weeks, after their 
walk amid the snowflakes, came to the post-office 
this recess when Sammy visited it. They heard 
Sammy’s inquiry in an eager boy-voice, 44 What 
shall I tell Mr. Endicott about that note ? ” 

“ Tell him I don’t know nothin’ ’bout Frank 
Gaines,” said Miss Sophia Green, Levi Green’s 
sister and the postmistress. 44 No letters come for 
him.” 

Annie started. The smile on her face vanished. 
She turned pale, and having inquired in an absent- 
minded way for the Alton mail, left the office. 

“ Hold on, Annie ! Why don’t you wait for 
me ? ” said Patty, running after her companion. 

“ Oh ! excuse me. Is — is — it turning to rain 
— I mean this snow ? ” 

44 It can’t be, so quick, but it is real soft and 
damp, and I shouldn’t wonder.” 

It seemed as if a change from cheeriness to a 
somber rain had taken place in Annie’s thoughts, 
for she said little to Patty on their walk back to 
the schoolhouse. The recess-bell had rung and 
the two girls went in quietly. 

44 Annie is queer,” thought Patty. 44 What 
made her change so ! I don’t care what it was. 
She is real generous, and I like her.” 


214 


ANOTHER MYSTERY. 


Patty did not know all that Annie had done in 
the effort to raise money for poor slave Ben. 
Annie had been saving her money to buy a writing- 
desk for her room, but poor Ben got every penny 
of it. As for Annie’s “ queer ” behavior, there 
was a reason for it, but she could not make 
any explanation, neither can this story here 
make it. 

That opinion about Annie’s queerness was one 
that Paul was compelled to entertain on the Alces- 
tis question. She was a sphinx of the desert, a 
sealed book on a shelf beyond his reach, a door 
locked and bolted, and he on the outside. Frank 
Gaines, too, threatened to be a mystery, a sea with- 
out shore or bottom. One person, though, Paul 
hoped he understood better — Sammy Hanscom. 
The lad had been very much interested in Po- 
mona’s singing at the entertainment, and Paul was 
delighted to find how quickly in any troublesome 
manifestation of “ vitality ” in the evening, Sammy 
would respond to an invitation to sing “ Pomona’s 
piece,” and how soon he would be subdued by it. 
It never failed. Sammy’s round head might be 
uneasily bobbing up from some piece of mischief, 
threatening at the next bob to attempt something 
more alarming, when the schoolmaster would look 
off from his book and say, “ Come, Sammy ! Po- 
mona’s piece, you know. Grandmother wants to 
hear it, don’t you ? ” 

64 Yes, I should indeed,” the old lady would say, 


ANOTHER MYSTERY. 


215 


welcoming any prospect of an end to Sammy’s mis- 
chievous capering. 

The schoolmaster would lay aside his book and 
hitch his chair nearer to the fire. Sammy would run 
for his favorite seat and place it beside the master’s. 

“Now, the air, Sammy.” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ I’ll take the bass. Begin ! ” 

The old lady would stay her knitting work and 
rest her hands in her lap. 

“ That man knows jest how to take Sammy,” 
she said, one night, in her thoughts. u He plays 
on him jest like a juice-harp. It beats all.” 

The tears would always come to her eyes when 
Paul and Sammy, before the lazily rolling flames 
in the fireplace, would sing the pathetic slave- 
hymn. They missed her one night when they had 
concluded their singing. She had opened the door 
leading from the kitchen into the long, close shed 
where Simon Hanscom stored every summer such 
magnificent piles of rock maple, walnut and oak. 
There the old lady stood in the dark, facing the 
tiers of wood, and plunging her blue and white 
gingham apron into her eyes. 

“ I can’t bear to hear them sing to-night, some- 
how,” she thought. “ Somehow, it teches me all 
over! I’m afraid suthin’ is cornin’.” 

Before the bluebirds sang above the last of the 
wdnter snow, something very serious did happen in 
the history of that little home. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

SMOKE. 

* 6 "T~T is first one thing and then another in 
school-keeping,” soliloquized the master, 
one afternoon after school. It had been a trying 
day. First of all, it was Monday, when fric- 
tion is apt to attend the running of the wheels, 
after their rest over Saturday and Sunday. Then 
one boy had upset his ink-bottle, and by a big 
black pool on the floor had shown Styx to be not a 
myth, but a fact. Two boys had exercised their 
fists upon each other at recess-time, and the yard 
was disagreeably noisy with the yell of the boys’ 
“ Row, row, row ! ” The ice on the river was soft 
after a rain, and several of the parents had re- 
quested the teacher to forbid excursions on it. Of 
all in the school, who should be transgressors but 
two of the younger girls, two sisters generally 
very quiet and orderly in school ! They were 
twins, Pink and Poppy Perham, and the so-called 
“ twins ” were the law-breakers this time. Then 


216 


SMOKE. 


217 


Amanda Baker, as she allowed to another girl 
after school, was “ sassy to the master.” There 
were just one hundred infractions of the rules of 
order, in addition to those other cases. 

Paul lost his temper several times, and did not 
find it again until all the scholars had left. He 
then closed the draught of the door of the stove, 
took down his shawl from its nail and threw it 
over his shoulders, covered his locks with his low- 
crowned felt hat, and left the room with a very 
positive sense of relief. Still greater was his sense 
of satisfaction when he had slammed the outside 
door, quickly locked it, and thrust the key down 
into his pocket as if dropping it into the depths 
of a well where it would never be heard from. 

“I am not going directly home,” he said. “I 
told William Potwin to look after the gymnasium 
and the boys, and judging from the yelling I heard 
in that direction a moment ago, they are all busy 
and don’t need me. I am going up to see the 
view. I want to quiet my nerves.” 

Back of the Hanscom farmhouse was an eleva- 
tion sufficient to give a view of a distant range of 
hills. Paul was peculiarly sensitive to the beauty 
of this view. The winter landscape had new at- 
tractiveness that afternoon. A late rain had been 
followed by a crusting of the snow, and then the 
wind had shaken down upon this alabaster floor 
fragments of ice coating the branches of the trees. 
As the sun’s rays touched these scattered ice-bits, 


218 


SMOKE. 


they flashed into the most brilliant crystals. A 
bird hopped down into this glitter, a lonely bird, 
and like diamonds for its adornings in readiness 
for an evening party of songsters, did all these 
little crystals sparkle. A cold ‘wind blew upon 
them as if to extinguish them, but like embers in 
a draught they glowed with new vividness. When 
the sun sank lower still, and draped with a wind- 
ing scarf of orange light the blue hills, his beams 
falling on the snow-field between Paul and the 
west, kindled it into a dazzling highway of gold. 
Soon the sun withdrew his head under the folds of 
the orange scarf he had wrought, and vanished. 
The gold in the field became silver, one wide sur- 
face of whitest metal just from the refining of the 
furnace. Paul lingered until his spirit had come 
into harmony with nature’s stillness and rest — 
had caught its luster of hope so radiant and so 
defiant in the very face of the night. 

Then he went down to the farmhouse at the foot 
of the hill. His landlady was very observant, and 
by this time understood many of his ways and 
moods. 

“ It allers means suthin’ when he goes up the 
hill,” she reasoned. 

When he entered the house, she asked him: 
“ School been pritty lively to-day ? ” 

“ Pretty ? Anything but that.” 

“ They all say you’re a-doin’ well,” replied Sa- 
mantha, anxious to encourage him. 


SMOKE. 


219 


“ I am glad they think so, thank you. You 
know in school it is first one thing and then 
another.” 

“ Isn’t that so in everything, Mr. Rendercut? 
We never know what is goin’ to happen. But 
there’s one verse in the Bible my mother liked to 
say over, and it is very encouraging.” 

“ What is that ? ” replied the schoolmaster, 
touched by the old lady’s watchful sympathy with 
him in all his trials. 

“ My mother’s verse ? This is it : “ He shall not 
be afraid of evil tidings : his heart is fixed, trusting 
in the Lord.’ I can hear her sayin’ it now, plain 
as day. Now I often think of that, and I am sure 
I’ve had ways enough to find out its value. I 
remember ” — 

She abruptly stopped. He saw that her eyes 
had suddenly grown red. If she had watched him 
and found out the meaning of his habits, he was 
not unobservant in his turn. “ She is thinking of 
Ajax,” he silently reflected. He was right. It 
was not necessary that she should explain the 
abrupt closing of her sentence. She turned aside 
into the kitchen closet and there began to rattle the 
dishes for supper. Paul went to his room, won- 
dering in school life what would come next. 
“ Don’t know,” he said, “ but it will be something. 
Poor old mother ! She wants to help me and keep 
me courageous. Well, I don’t believe I shall 
follow up school-keeping for a living.” 


220 


SMOKE. 


He went out, however, to call at the homes of 
several of his scholars, and the kindly words 
spoken to him so encouraged the master that he 
went to bed thinking he might perhaps be induced 
to keep one more school the succeeding winter. 
He could not speak positively. 

When the sun next put his head above the 
eastern hills, wondering what he might find in the 
land of the North and the cold, he saw the same 
frozen fields as the day before, the same frozen 
river, the same villages nestling on opposite banks 
of the river, the same chimney-tops contentedly 
smoking their pipes of peace, but he did not see 
any smoke curling up leisurely from the chimney 
of the north schoolhouse. Neither did Paul 
Endicott observe any smoke rising from the chim- 
ney of that schoolhouse. 

In response to Sammy’s notification that the fire 
would not burn, he went over to the schoolroom 
to see what the matter was. 

“ I went over this morning,” said Sammy, run- 
ning by his side, “ to start the fire, as I always do, 
you know, and she wouldn’t go. It just smoked 
and smoked and smoked, and the room is all full 
as she can be. Don’t see what the matter is ! 
Stove looks all right ” — 

“ And funnel, too ? ” 

“ Yes, Mr. Endicott ; everything is all right.” 

“ Something must be wrong.” 

The schoolmaster hurried energetically along 


SMOKE. 


221 


the street, and then turned aside to the school- 
house door. The windows of the building were 
all open. 

“ I guess she is all out now,” said Sammy, “ all 
the smoke.” 

“It won’t be, Sammy, unless the fire is out. We 
will fix that, though. I will make an inspection.” 

The “ inspector ” threw open the stove door, and 
then wished he hadn’t, for a new detachment of 
smoke charged upon him. 

“Pail of water, Sammy! Out in the girls’ 
room ! ” 

“ Here it is, Mr. Endicott.” 

“ There ! Splash she goes ! No more of that 
nuisance there. Now I will examine the funnel. 
Seems all right; you don’t suppose it is any 
‘ grind ’ ? ” 

“ What, sir?” 

“ W ell, we say that in college ; I mean 4 game,’ 
‘trick,’ you know.” 

“I don’t know. We might look out and see.” 

“ Out ? Oh ! I didn’t think of one thing. 
What did you mean by ‘ out ’ ? ” 

“ I don’t know, sir. Guess I didn’t mean any 
thing ; just to keep looking, you know.” 

“ Out,” though, suggested one possible explana- 
tion to the schoolmaster, and he rushed into the 
yard and looked up to the roof. Then he looked 
along the line of the ridge-pole and saw what — 
about the mouth of the chimney ? 


222 


SMOKE. 


“ See anything round the chimney — the top of 
it, Sammy? ” 

“ Looks like some straws sticking out.” 

“I guess so. I will be even with them. Just 
help me out with the table in the girls’ room, 
please.” 

“ Going to look up on the roof ? ” 

“ I am going there, Sammy.” 

“ Oh ! good. Wish I could go ! ” 

“ Not now, Sammy, for I want to be quick. 
There, we will bring the table out — so, and put 
it down at this corner of the schoolhouse — so. 
There ! That is right. Ready for operations on 
the roof of the schoolhouse. Here goes ! ” 

“ Oh ! he is going up, truly going,” thought the 
delighted Sammy. 

Rejoicing because he was a gymnast and the 
eaves were low, Paul gripped the roof and drew 
himself up on to the shingles bared of snow by the 
late rain. He cautiously but energetically climbed 
along the gable-end of the roof, putting into his 
movements that characteristic force which some- 
times in college had gained for him the name, 
“steam.” About half-way up a thought struck 
him : “ Is anybody looking ? What a ridiculous 
figure I must be cutting, sprawling along the 
roof!” He stopped to laugh and look around, 
and then continued his journey to the ridge-pole. 
Along the latter, he crawled to the chimney, and 
what did he see protruding from its red mouth ? 


SMOKE. 


223 


Teeth? He grasped the base of the chimney, 
stood up, and looked over into the gaping mouth. 
It was stuffed with hay. “ Interesting ! ” he 
thought, fiercely tearing out that obstruction. 
“ The rascals, the villains, the ” — he stopped to 
laugh. 

“ You got him ? ” shouted the excited Sammy, 
who had tried hard enough to follow Paul, but had 
been forced by an unfortunate limitation as to legs 
and arms to stay on the ground. 

“Not 4 him,’ but ‘ it ’ ! ” cried the schoolmaster, 
thrusting his arms down into the chimney and 
bringing out another lot of ha,y. “ It may lead to 
4 him,’ though. I am good for ‘him.’ Guess ‘he ’ 
will wonder how I found it out ! ” 

He was still pulling out hay when he chanced 
to lift his eyes. 

“ If there isn’t Sophia Green the postmistress 
coming down the street ! ” he ejaculated. 

“ If there isn’t the teacher on the roof. O, 
my ! ” she exclaimed. “ He looks — like a crow- 
biddy goin’ to crow — he-he — because he has found 
out ’tis mornin’. He-he-he ! ” 

Her craving for gossip was notorious. Her 
opportunity to circulate it was endless, as her 
position made her a kind of newspaper, a sort of 
house “flyer” that could go from home to home 
without flying at all. 

“ There’s her brother, too, that loquacious Levi, 
the stage driver,” thought the schoolmaster. 


224 


SMOKE. 


“ Worse and worse ! She will tell him, and he will 
tell his horses and his passengers and everybody 
he meets — in short, the whole town and world. I 
was going to keep it secret, but it is out now.” 

Out even as the wund is out. Paul came down 
from his high perch, closed the windows of the 
schoolhouse, coaxed his drenched stove into ser- 
vice again, and by the time his scholars had as- 
sembled, the room was agreeably warm, and there 
was no sign of any disturbance that morning in 
the arrangements for heating. 

“ Sammy, can you keep a secret ? ” Paul had said. 

“Yes, sir,” replied Sammy, delighted to be the 
repository of any important secret. 

“ Then don’t say anything about the trouble in 
the chimney.” 

Paul reasoned that the perpetrator of this prac- 
tical joke, if no stir were made about it, might he 
disappointed because his ingenuity was not noticed, 
and he would be likely to make some voluntary 
reference to it, and so its authorship be exposed. 
Paul kept silent ; neither was a reference made to 
the chimney affair by any one else. Paul heard 
nothing at recess, saw no written comment on 
slate or book during the entire school session. He 
was disappointed. 

“ The rogue does not mean to go into that trap,” 
thought Paul, “ unless I shove him in.” 

When he went home, though, at noon, Saman- 
tha’s first exclamation was, “ Now that was mean ! ” 


SMOKE. 


225 


“ Yas, yas,” said Simon (he made a flat pancake 
of his affirmative), “it was a mean crittur that 
did it.” 

Paul looked up in perplexity. He did not at 
first understand. 

“ Who or what was mean ? ” he asked. 

“ Why, that chimney ! ” explained Samantha. 

Paul looked at Sammy. 

“ I didn’t tell,” shouted that youth proudly. 

“Tell!” said his grandfather. “Nobody here 
told me ; didn’t need to ; all over the village, they 
were talking of it. I heard about it in half a 
dozen places ; yas, half a dozen. Miles Baker’s 
one, and” — 

“ The post-office another,” suggested Paul, re- 
membering what news-vender had spied him on 
the roof. 

“ Yas ; you hit it, but oh ! la, it was all round, 
and a mean caper it was, obligin’ you, too, to 
climb up there.” 

“ They don’t show no respect for your business, 
and ought to be — shot, I was a-goin’ to say,” de- 
clared the old lady, who felt intensely, and was 
more anxious to be loyal to her friends than just 
to her enemies. 

Paul hardly knew what to say. He began to 
laugh and made Simon and Samantha laugh also 
as he told them how he must have looked up on 
the roof. Every laugh, though, died away. Paul 
was vulnerable. He had his share of weaknesses. 


226 


SMOKE. 


He was not an impossible ; he was human. When 
he went back to school, he caught a voice among 
the scholars at the door saying, “ Don’t look down 
the chimney ! ” 

“ It is all out there among the scholars. My 
trap didn’t work,” thought Paul. 

He had not thought it worth while to pay any 
attention to that school-door remark, and he would 
have been puzzled to name its author. Neither 
did he think it best then to pay any attention to a 
chalk sketch on the blackboard which some of his 
big girls had surrounded ; and did not the hand of 
Annie Alton herself swiftly wipe it out? He 
could not absolutely declare its character, but it 
seemed to him as if he saw the outlines of a form 
sketched near a pillar-like object. 

“ That is Paul Endicott looking down into that 
old black chimney,” he said to himself. The 
official pride of the pedagogue was touched at 
this. 

During the afternoon, Paul harassed by the 
noise, felt that his nerves were escaping from his 
control. He might have inferred that he was in 
no condition to review fairly the smoky item of 
the morning. He thought upon it and began to 
feel indignant. Then Miles Baker, the school 
agent, must know of it. Judge Alton probably 
had heard of it. Titus Potwin must have grinned 
over it. Paul — was human. When his back was 
turned he heard somebody say, “ Chimney.” 


SMOKE. 


227 


“That’s Bill Potwin,” concluded Paul. “Ah! 
he stuffed the chimney.” 

“William,” he shouted, turning sharply, “what 
did you say then ? ” 

“ Nothing, sir.” 

Paul was not prepared for this lie. He had 
trusted William, encouraged him to do right, be- 
friended him, and here William was lying to him. 
The schoolmaster had no heart to follow up this 
matter, but before he dismissed the school he made 
a speech. It was short firing, but energetic, and 
every shot struck. He referred to the stuffing of 
the chimney, and said he was sorry that he could not 
trust his scholars. He had trusted them. He had 
put them on their honor, but he was disappointed. 
He saw he could not trust them. Before him, he 
could but feel, sat the perpetrator of the outrage. 
He could only hope the guilty one would come to 
him in voluntary confession rather than oblige the 
teacher to go to the guilty one in punishment. 
He said he intended to make no other reference to 
this matter, and he wished to hear nothing about 
it by way of any public remark (this was a hit at 
the supposed Potwin voice), or by way of — of — 
figures on the blackboard (here he glared savagely 
at the back seat of big girls). “I shall deal with 
the guilty scholar in private,” he added. 

The moment he had finished, he said to himself, 
“ I have made a mistake.” 

Will Gaines had told him this : “ Paul, I am not 


228 


SMOKE. 


perfect. Take my advice for what it is worth, but 
in school — and I guess you’ll find it good else- 
where — when you are puzzled, and when you don’t 
know what to say or do, say and do — nothing ; 
hold on ! ” 

When the scholars left, they looked as Paul felt, 
ashamed and indignant. A group of girls lingered 
irresolutely near the stove. 

“ Tell him,” whispered one of them. 

“ Something is coming,’'’ thought Paul, who 
overheard this, but sat at his desk apparently writ- 
ing. His mind was not on his writing. He made 
several characters never yet found in any written 
language. He heard a shuffling of timid feet. 

“Here they come,” thought Paul, scribbling in 
a possible combination of Sanscrit, Choctaw and 
Chinese. He allowed his scholars to stand a while 
like guilty souls before a bar of justice. Then 
Rhadamanthus looked up, cold and stern. He 
saw Patty Weeks, Sallie Ricker and Annie Alton. 
The faces of the girls were flushed, and Rhada- 
manthus guessed at once that their communication 
had something to do with the blackboard drawing 
and his memorable speech. Annie Alton was the 
counsel in behalf of this batch of the accused. 

“ O, Mr. Endicott ! we wanted to say that what 
you saw on the blackboard when you came in, was 
not a sketch about the chimney.” 

“ It was not? ” said Paul in surprise, and at the 
same time joyfully relieved. “ It looked like one 


SMOKE. 


229 


tall, straight thing standing beside another, like 
somebody beside the chimney,” he added. 

This made the girls laugh, and Annie reminded 
him that he was not very complimentary to the 
teacher, to put it that way. 

“ Then I ask the teacher’s pardon,” said Paul 
with a grin, desiring also in this remark to impress 
his volatile pupils with the conviction that the 
master’s authority ought to be respected, and his 
pardon solicited. But what about these scholars’ 
rights ? Paul’s temper was not of the slow kind ; 
neither was his sense of justice tardy when he had 
wronged another. Quickly, at once, he would 
apologize, and not come to that act after a long, 
sulky reflection. He bowed to his scholars as 
courteously as Judge Alton could have done on 
any occasion. 

“ And,” he now added, “ if I did you any injus- 
tice, I ask your pardon, too.” 

“ Oh ! it is all right,” said Annie. 

“ Yes, yes ! ” cried Sallie. 

“ And it was a mean trick about the chimney,” 
declared Patty. 

“ Well,” said the master, not Rhadamanthus, 
“ if it be no secret, what did you put on the 
board?” 

“ Oh ! but you mustn’t tell, for I don’t suppose 
it was just the thing,” said Annie ; “ it was Syl- 
vester and the 4 judge’s pine.’ ” 

“ Sylvester ? ” 


230 


SMOKE. 


“Sylvester Dixon, arid the pine is one on the 
river bank near our house. Sylvester in the 
sketch, was measuring himself by the ‘judge’s 
pine.’ ” 

This conference at the bar of Rhadamanthus 
here broke up pleasantly, and the schoolhouse and 
schoolmaster were left behind. 

“ Why, Annie,” said Sallie, as the girls walked 
down the street, “he thinks now you chalked poor 
Sylvester on the board, and I did it.” 

“ Oh ! well, I was not going to tell him every 
thing. He must not flatter himself that he is our 
confessor.” 

“Well,” said Sallie, “I am going back to tell 
him.” 

After the blushing Sallie’s acknowledgment, 
Paul walked away in a state of mind far more 
satisfactory than that in which he had made his 
speech to the whole school. 

After tea, before Paul left for the post-office, as 
was his custom each evening, Captain Hanscom 
made a little statement to him. Sammy had gone, 
after school, to the Potwin farm to make William a 
brief visit, the two young people being very good 
friends. Grandfather Hanscom, therefore, had had 
no chance to learn through Sammy about move- 
ments in the school-world since noon, and he sup- 
posed everything was just as noon had left it. 

“ I think you will come out all right on that 
chimney affair,” said the ex-skipper. 


SMOKE. 


281 


“ Do you ? I should like to.” 

44 Yas ; you laughed over it and took it easy, but 
then you are on the watch jest the same. You 
will nab the offender, I know ” — 

“ I should hope so,” said the old lady warmly. 
11 It was jest barb’rous, yes, that is the word for 
’em.” 

“ Wall, I don’t know as 4 ’em ’ did it. It is not 
best to be too sure. I b’lieve in dis’pline, but 
4 sure and cautious ’ is my motto. Any way, don’t 
take offense at it, and think anybody wants to 
spite you.” 

44 Me, Simon ?” said Samantha. 

44 La, no, but the master,” replied Simon, blush- 
ing in his embarrassment. 

44 1 should be glad to know nothing personal was 
in it, sir,” remarked Paul. 

“Nothing what-ev-er ! that is my mind. Don’t 
take offense and think it is so. Some teachers are 
allers thinking something pussonal is meant by any 
mischief. Why, if I had a mind to notice things 
round my farm, I might take offense and think 
people that worked for me meant suthin’ pussonal, 
but they don’t. I don’t believe your scholars 
meant anything, and fact is I doubt if they did it. 
It will all come out right.” 

“ Things are all right with Simon,” explained 
Samantha afterwards to the master. 44 Things 
with him are allers cornin’ out right. I don’t feel 
so sartin how they will come out.” 


232 


SMOKE. 


“Well, the hay is out of the chimney,” said 
Paul. Off he went whistling. 

On his way to the post-office he reflected : 
“ Simon doesn’t know of the speech his boarder 
made in the schoolhouse. I am right in one matter. 
When the thing is found out, that Bill Potwin will 
turn out to be the rascal. I’m right there ! ” 

In a few minutes he said, “ Wrong there ! ” 

“ Perfessor ! ” a nasal voice had called out as 
Paul was about to enter the post-office. 

It was Levi Green standing beside the stage, 
waiting for the arrival of a mail-bag. 

Paul stepped toward the driver, amused and a 
bit gratified to receive the ingenious Levi’s title. 

“P’r’aps it’s none of my business, perfessor,” 
remarked Levi, “ but I hear you stretched ’em out 
right and left, laid ’em all so low they could hardly 
stand up ag’in, in a few lively remarks you made 
to ’em at the schoolhouse.” 

“Remarks, sir?” said the professor with dignity. 

“’Bout that chimney, you know.” 

“ You heard of it ? ” 

“ La, saw it when it was done, an hour when 
you collige chaps are abed and asleep. Up here 
we know everything. We see things afore they 
happen. Smart as that, perfessor ! ” 

Paul laughed. “ I am sure I didn’t know what 
kind of a people I was among.” 

“ Fust-class, sir ! All of ’em goin’ to be presi- 
dents, or the parents of ’em. And now ’bout that 


SMOKE. 


238 


chimney. P’r’aps tain’t none of my business, and 
you can keep this to yerself, but I heard you 
thought it was your scholars. I hate to have ’em 
blamed, and of course you don’t want to be 
a-barkin’ up the wrong tree. So keep this to yer- 
self. I w r as a-comin’ by the schoolhouse early, and 
I saw a chap on the roof, cornin’ away from the 
chimney then, and hay was in his hand, and it was 
Lemuel Skillings, sure as you are a born sinner ! ” 

“ Lemuel Skillings ? ” 

“ Oh ! he’s a boy that b’longs to t’other side of 
the river. You used to see him with Bill Potwin 
all the time, but Bill has been a-growin’ stiddy ; 
shouldn’t wonder if Lem felt a-grieved toward 
Bill, and cut up that caper, thinkin’ folks would 
lay it to Bill’s door. But he was seen, yes, Lem 
was seen, tho’ of course I didn’t understand then 
why he was on the roof. He’s allers a-shinnin’ up 
suthin’. Then he told somebody on t’other side of 
the river, who told me. Lem is round at all hours 
of the day and night. I shall see him some 
mornin’ a-stridin’ the vane on the meetin’-hus 
steeple. Now keep this to yerself, and good luck 
to ye, perfessor ! ” 

Levi’s mail-bag had now arrived. He threw it 
on top of the stage, climbed up to the driver’s 
box, cracked his whip and shouted : 

“ G’lang there ! What yur stoppin’ a-mousin’ 
round here for?” 

Off went driver and stage. Paul stepped into 


234 


SMOKE. 


the office, came out of it and went home, all the 
while busily thinking. All through his sleep he 
was thinking — an incessant day-and-night process 
that sometimes afflicts perplexed school teachers. 
In Paul’s case he was pulling hay out of a chimney 
that continually kept filling up, and Paul contin- 
ually was expressing his opinion about it. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

CONFESSION. 

r | HIE next morning Paul felt that he must make 
a confession to his school. His conscience 
having told him his duty, as Will Gaines once 
said, “ you might as well get Paul off that idea as 
to move Mt. Washington from its base.” 

His famous speech, that Levi Green and every- 
body else had heard about, left the school in the 
shadow of a serious charge. Paul had said he 
was disappointed in his scholars. He could not 
trust them, though he had done so and had placed 
them on their honor. Yesterday they had gone 
out of his presence burdened with a grave charge. 
To-day, when he met them, would he lift the 
burden unjustly resting upon them ? 

“No other way!” decided the master. “I will 
do it.” 

After the opening exercises of the morning, 
Paul remarked that he had something he wished 
to say to the school. They instinctively felt 
235 


286 


CONFESSION. 


that it was another communication about the 
chimney. 

“We are all liable to make mistakes,” he said 
pleasantly, “ and we are all undoubtedly sorry to 
make them. I was sorry to make one last night. 
I said I thought one of you had stuffed the chim- 
ney, or what was equivalent to it, also that I had 
trusted you, but was disappointed and could not 
trust you. I have since learned that I was mis- 
taken, that somebody outside of my scholars did 
the mischief. I would retract what I said and ex- 
press my regrets for the statement that I made. I 
— I feel that I can trust you. If you ever teach 
school, you will find out how tired a teacher may 
get, how nervous, and you will then wonder less 
at any words that may hastily be spoken.” 

Have we not watched the new day shine into a 
room when a curtain is suddenly lifted, the sun 
throwing in a quick, golden beam that lights up 
from wall to wall, like a broad, golden wave push- 
ing everywhere? As Paul with his own hands 
lifted the curtain that had shadowed with sus- 
picion his scholars, it was interesting to see how 
their faces lighted up. One beamed, then another. 
The boys nodded significantly to those on their 
side, and the girls exchanged smiling glances. 
Sylvester wrote upon his slate, “ Talking like a 
man,” while in the big girls’ corner a slate was 
going from hand to hand carrying this inscrip- 
tion : “ First in peace, first in war, and first in the 


CONFESSION. 


237 


hearts of his countrymen; our new Washington.” 
Scholars and teacher went back to the old rela- 
tions before Paul’s hasty speech, and school life 
jogged on as usual. 

Paul’s “ confession ” was made, of course, a 
topic of village talk. Miles Baker was glad to hear 
Titus Potwin stamping into his store, for he wanted 
to talk with Titus on this very subject. It was 
evening, and just then Miles happened to be alone. 

44 Fine day, Titus,” said Miles, in his hearty 
manner. 44 Any news over your way ? ” 

44 Nothing I know of. Guess you would get it 
here if there was. I am tied up close, you see, all 
day in school.” 

Miles paid no attention to the ambiguous com- 
pliment paid Miles’ store as a gossip-reservoir, and 
said, 44 Yes, I s’pose you are sliet up close in school. 
Doin’ well?” 

44 Oh ! yes, sir. Same old story. I mean to make 
them mind and ground them well in the elements, 
you know. School on your side is doing ” — 

“Well? I-eh-guess so. Some talk jest now 
about that chimney scrape, you know, and about 
the teacher 4 takin’ his words all back.’ ” 

44 So I hear ! So I hear ! ” exclaimed Titus with 
sudden animation, nodding his head fiercely. 

44 Oh ! ” said Miles carelessly, 44 shet up in school 
so much, didn’t know as you heard.” 

44 Nothing of course to what you get,” replied 
Titus, firing a shot back. 


238 


CONFESSION. 


“Wall, now, Titus, what do you think of this 
backin’ and fillin’, sayin’ a thing, and then sayin’ 
you never said it, or that is what it amounts to ? ” 

As Miles spoke he used a tone of deferential 
appeal to the great Roman pedagogue, which Titus 
appreciated at once. 

u Oh ! I understand, I understand, Miles.” 

“Wall, now — this of course is all ’tween you 
and me, but ra-ley ” — and here Miles subdued his 
voice, and at the same time made his air more 
deferential as well as confidential — “ don’t you 
think it rather — ahem — tends to weaken — eh — 
one’s authority ? Of course, as to the p’int itself, 
what is right and what is wrong ” — here Miles 
spread out his hands as if he were Justice extend- 
ing her infallible scales, dirty ones in this instance 

— “ why, of course, if a man has made a mistake, 
why he has made it, that’s clear, but then he’s 
a-teachin’ and the question is how will it affect his 

— his — authority ? ” 

“ I will tell you how it is with me,” replied 
Titus, jerking forward his big, ponderous chin, and 
then bringing down on the counter a hard, heavy 
fist, “ I am put in school to gur-vurn it. That is 
my first business, and I have no business to do 
anything to interfere with my authority. What I 
say, I say.” 

Here Titus’s heavy fist almost dented the counter 
and made Miles’s rusty old scales jingle and jump, 
as if preparatory to a jolly dance. It was the first 


CONFESSION. 


239 


time for a year that they had been stirred out of 
their dusty, dirty location. 

“ I don’t take back,” continued Titus. “ I give, 
and they deserve all they get, and more too, but 
as for this backing and filling business, I despise 
it. My scholars don’t get too much discipline. 
May be less of it one day and more the next. 
Even it, though, take it through the term, and they 
only get justice. As for this backing and filling, 
this shortening and lengthening, I don’t have any 
thing to do with it. A teacher can’t afford to 
be shifting about so. My scholars know where 
I stand. They can rely on me. That’s my 
doctrine.” 

Here Titus shook his head at Miles, as if adding, 
“ Do you see ? ” Miles shook his head back at 
Titus as if saying, “ Sartin’, I see ! ” 

They stood a moment looking at each other, 
Titus fiercely challenging Miles for his approbation 
which Miles grinningly signified, and he also said 
to himself : “ Titus would make a good son-in-law. 
Now I wish that Endicott, who’s chuck full of his 
notions and his dignity, would come and talk with 
me man-fashion, same way as Titus does, and not 
scatter away his time callin’ round at Jedge 
Alton’s, and so on ! ” 

The absorbing interest of the two men in this 
subject of Paul’s “ backin’ and fillin’ ” was inter- 
rupted by the sound of a footstep just inside the 
door. 


240 


CONFESSION. 


“ Who’s that ? ” asked Miles starting forward. 

The person came nearer. He had followed 
Titus into the store, and had been patiently waiting 
near the door. Titus now saw him. 

“ Oh ! I guess it’s only Bill,” exclaimed Titus, 
speaking carelessly, almost contemptuously, as if 
it were one greatly inferior, a brute who had 
turned in here, a dog, a bear, an ox. 

“ Titus always makes me feel as if I was no- 
body,” was the frequent thought in this younger 
brother’s heart. Miles and Titus continued to 
speak in a very oracular way, disregarding Bill, 
when Paul Endicott himself entered. 

“ Good-evening, William,” said Paul pleasantly, 
in that kind of tone indescribable, and yet which 
always recognizes another as an equal, or on the 
way to equality. Was not Paul trying to make a 
man of “ Bill Potwin ” ? 

“ Good-evening,” replied Bill, adding in his 
thought, “ Now that lifts a feller.” 

Paul bowed to Titus and Miles, and then called 
for a dozen writing books. 

“Wall,” said Miles carelessly, as if introducing 
a subject that had not been discussed for months, 
“ anything new up at school nowadays ? I s’pose 
you keep busy and try to bring ’em up right ? ” 

“ I make the effort, certainly. How much are 
these ? ” 

“ Oh ! I make a discount to you, you know.” 

“ But they are for the school.” 


CONFESSION. 


241 


“ Oh-oh ! Lem-me see ! Didn’t serve you jest 
fair about that chimney, did they ? ” 

“ Well, no, though it was not one of our boys.” 

“ Wouldn’t be mean enough,” muttered Bill. 

“ Haw-haw ! See him ! Virtue out a-walking 
round ! ” exclaimed Titus, pointing scornfully at 
his brother. “ I know you, young man.” 

“ No, we wouldn’t,” snarled Bill angrily. 

“Of course they wouldn’t ; I am aware of that,” 
said Paul. “ How much, Mr. Baker, did you say 
for these ? ” 

“Well, lem-me see. I s’pose you thought it 
best to make an explanation — ten cents apiece for 
these ’ere — sort of to make ’em feel easy?” 
Paul saw that he must deliver his opinion. 

“ I found, Mr. Baker, I had made a mistake in 
saying I felt that my scholars did it, and I took it 
back — you may roll up those writing books, here’s 
the money — for there is nothing else to be done 
when in the wrong than to say so. I accused my 
scholars of it, and I felt that the only way was to 
say that I was mistaken. My idea is to bring 
scholars* up to that level where you will expect 
fair play of them, and let them know you mean 
fair play on your side. I expect the boys to be 
gentlemen and the girls to be ladies, and hold them 
up to that standard, and I wish to treat them as 
such.” 

Here Bill Potwin straightened up as if one of 
those “ gentlemen,” and his dull face brightened. 


242 


CONFESSION. 


Paul turned now to Titus Potwin and said, 
“ You are a teacher. I am right, am I not, sir ? ” 

“Well,” said Titus slowly, half-sneeringly, “it 
is not for me to judge ye-ou. We are teachers on 
opposite sides of the river, you know. I will 
speak for myself. When I say a thing, I say it, I 
mean it. I have nothing to take back, ever. I 
am sent to gur-vurn the school and I mean to gur- 
vurn it ” (here he pounded his left hand with his 
Tight, as if a scholar were under that hard right 
hand). “ If I should not always hit the mark in 
what I said, I should let it go. To take back 
would damage my authority. I must not hurt 
that. 1 am sent first of all to gur-vurn the school. 
That is my position.” 

Here Titus swung about majestically as if to 
occupy more firmly than ever his so-called “ posi- 
tion ” on this subject. 

“ My first business in a school,” replied Paul 
with promptness, dignity and some warmth, “ is to 
do right. That comes before government or any 
thing else. I am to do right, and if I had made a 
wrong statement, I would rectify it if it cost me 
my place the next day. One of my professors at 
college treated us in our class unfairly, one day. 
He is a brave old fellow, courageous as a lion, but 
I thought him a braver man than ever when the 
next day he frankly said he had made a mistake. 
He had our respect in larger measure. His au- 
thority had a firmer basis. However, set authority 


CONFESSION. 


243 


aside which, to last, must he founded on right, set 
that aside. If I had injured my scholars by mak- 
ing a wrong accusation, I would rectify it, because 
— right, and — take the consequences. Good- 
evening, all.” 

Out of the store Paul strode with dignity. 

“ Haw-haw-haw ! ” roared Titus. 

“ Haw-haw-haw ! ” roared Miles. 

Then they grinned, chuckled and roared again. 

“ That feller from college ! ” said Titus sneer- 
ingly, but his brother eyed him indignantly. 

The next day, after school, Paul while prepar- 
ing to leave the room, was conscious that one of 
the boys had lingered for some reason and was 
now watching him. He looked up and saw “ Bill 
Potwin.” 

“ Ah, William ! waiting for me ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ I shall be ready soon.” 

As Paul attended to various duties, he was con- 
scious that the boy’s eyes followed him. Paul 
shut up the stove, and he knew that his scholar 
watched every movement of his hands, his feet, 
and even the shifting expression of his face. Had 
not Bill Potwin been watching his teacher more 
closely day by day than Paul had ever supposed? 
The character of this teacher was a revelation to 
Bill. He had seen the strength of his brother 
Titus, and such strength was the synonym of 
roughness and coarseness. He knew that his 


244 


CONFESSION. 


brother was intelligent, but his intelligence was 
the companion of a moral shiftlessness that did 
not hesitate to make a misstatement and let it go, 
caring more for the consequences of untruthful- 
ness than for the sin of it. On the other hand, 
Paul had come to Bill as a manifestation of 
strength that was yet gentleness. Bill had re- 
marked to his old street-chum, Lem Skillings, 
“ Our master is a pleasant man.” 

“ Pleasant ! That is ’cos he has to be. If he 
were strong he wouldn’t put up with things in 
school.” 

“ Eh, sir ! You wouldn’t dare stand before his 
fists,” challenged Bill, who had not forgotten that 
first gymnasium-lesson which included the sand- 
bags. 

“Wouldn’t I though, Bill Potwin ? We’ll see 
afore he gits through, the donkey cornin’ up here 
and a-wearin’ that blankit. We fellers have talked 
it over. Lots more’n me think so. The spooney 
he is ! ” 

“Look out for the master’s fists!” answered 
Bill. “ He wants fair play, but he won’t stand 
foul play. He is great on fair play.” 

Bill knew that Paul had strength to defend him- 
self, but his strength would not be exercised in 
the direction of injustice and cruelty. Then Bill 
was not a careless spectator of Paul’s acquirements 
as a student. The master though that could at- 
tract by his reputation for learning that huge 


CONFESSION. 


245 


Goth, Sylvester Dixon, never used it to hide a 
mistake or cover a weakness of any kind. Paul 
had often in his thoughts said, “ I’ll try to make a 
man of Bill Potwin.” Paul did not realize the 
extent of his influence over this rough scholar, 
that he was giving shape and direction to Bill’s 
character. What teacher does realize the power 
of which he or she may be the source? The 
scholar that may see very little of “ father ” ex- 
cept on Sunday, comes under the teacher’s influ- 
ence, hour after hour, each day. John or Eliza 
may see more of the teacher than of the mother 
even. Hour after hour, the teacher’s dress, face, 
tones will be observed and studied by the scholar. 
The neatness or slovenliness made prominent, the 
patience or petulance, the generosity or selfishness, 
the candor or concealment, the reverence or skep- 
ticism, the fair play or injustice, the refinement or 
brutality — all these qualities, as well as thorough- 
ness in scholarship or a slipshod inexactness, will 
have their influence. The picture on the nega- 
tive, in the light of the sun repeats itself on the 
paper attached to that negative. As inevitably, a 
teacher will, in some measure, reappear in a scholar. 
So runs the rule. The teacher, Paul Endicott, 
was now repeating himself in this big boy, Bill 
Potwin. It was the night of the day after the 
confession, as he was closing up the stove in the 
schoolhouse, the master heard the voice of the big 
boy who watched him* 


246 


CONFESSION. 


“ Mr. Endicott ! ” 

Paul looked up and saw Bill’s round face hang- 
ing above him, a face that had an animal shape, 
but out of the eyes was breaking the light of an 
attempt to rise up to the level of a noble manhood. 

44 What is it, William ? ” 

“ I wanted to tell you something.” 

“ All right. Say on ! ” 

44 You said yesterday to the school you made a 
mistake and you wanted to straighten it out, and 
I respected you for it. I — I got caught, too, and 
haven’t felt just easy. In school-time, I said be- 
fore I thought, 4 chimney,’ and you turned round 
sort of quick and s’prised me, and when you asked 
me what I said, I said , 4 Nothin’ ! ’ It wa’n’t right, 
I know, and ” — 

44 William, I respect you for telling me. Tell 
the truth always, but if you should make a slip, 
don’t hesitate to own up. Give me your hand, 
William. There. All right ! Now we will go.” 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE DEBATE. 

T ITUS POT WIN longed for a public oppor- 
tunity to show that he was superior to the 
teacher on the “ old village side ” of the river, for 
in this way the older and younger villages were 
sometimes distinguished, one having age and a 
greater measure of respectability, culture and 
wealth, while the other could claim youth, enter- 
prise and business. Titus felt that in the spelling- 
match he had been decidedly worsted by Paul, 
who spelled the word given to Titus. He felt the 
defeat all the more keenly because he found that 
he had failed on a word from the Greek which he 
had affected to despise. “ Your Latin and Greek ! ” 
he would roar out to his scholars. “ What do we 
want of a dead tongue? Give me good live Eng- 
lish, mother English ; that’s it ! I want a tongue 
that can talk to-day, the tongue in your head.” 

He forgot in his ignorance that the old Latin 
and the old Greek speak to us to-day, through our 
247 


248 


THE DEBATE. 


English, especially in words that we use when we 
have business with the lawyer, the doctor, the 
theologian, or the adept in the natural sciences. 
Titus shut his eyes to the contemplation of any 
such possible fact, and roared in his willful blind- 
ness against the words that generations ago be- 
came good English, and can only be thoroughly 
understood to-day by Latin and Greek students. 
To think that Titus, the self-raised Titus, the ped- 
agogue, home-made, born and brought-up in that 
town, should be outspelled by a young upstart 
from college, and that the word should have been 
born in Greece, galled the schoolmaster on the 
other side of the river. 

He was conscious, too, that in the late discus- 
sion about governing a school, Paul had gone up 
to higher ground. Of course he did not allow it 
openly. Before Paul had finished the delivery 
of his opinion that night, in Miles Baker’s store, 
Amanda, who was in the sitting-room, hearing 
voices, had crept to the door between the sitting- 
room and the store, and as she said to herself, 
“ peeked out.” When Paul left the store, Amanda 
came into it. 

u There, Mr. Potwin, I guess-s 'our teacher 
knows-s how to talk,” she exclaimed in her flat, 
simpering tones. “ He is-s a real gentleman, too. 
He only s-said he had called us-s what he ought 
not to. He hasn’t hurt his-s authority, I tell ye. 
He can govern.” 


THE DEBATE. 


249 


“ Haw-haw ! ” cried Titus, affecting to despise 
the arguments of this unexpected champion of 
Paul. “ What do you know about gur-vurning, 
Amanday ? You are the one to be gur-vurned. 
I could show ye ! ” 

Was that a prophecy? If so, then unfortunate 
Amanda ! Here Miles interposed. “ Come, Sis, 
I guess you had better go back to your sewin’. I 
want a leetle talk with Titus.” 

“ Well, I don’t want it, and s-s-s-so I’ll go.” 

The giggling Amanda here withdrew, while 
Titus parted his big coarse jaws and roared again, 
“Haw-haw-haw ! I’ll settle things.” 

He did not feel at ease, though, about the issue 
of this discussion with Paul. He remembered, 
too, the spelling-match. He longed for an oppor- 
tunity to “ measure swords ” again with “ that 
college chap,” or as he put it, “ to lay him low.” 
The opportunity came through a temperance 
debate. 

In those days, there was not the wise provision 
made nowadays in so many States to give young 
people at school systematic instruction upon the 
nature of alcoholic stimulants, opiates, intoxicants 
of every kind, a provision to be universally re- 
spected and a law to be obeyed. The young then 
received their training unsystematically. The 
clergymen of the village might preach upon the evils 
of intemperance, and a traveling lecturer might 
bring round his torch of ready speech and with it 


250 


THE DEBATE. 


kindle an interest among the people. In school- 
houses, too, or town halls, there might be popu- 
lar gatherings to be inflamed by home talent, or 
more accurately, home combustibles. By all these 
methods, instruction was given. The people were 
reached ; there was a steady strengthening of pub- 
lic opinion in support of the famous “Maine law” 
for the suppression of drinking houses and tippling 
shops. The law in Paul’s college days still was 
young. Judge Alton was one of the temperance 
leaders in his village. Simon and Samantha were 
among his most zealous supporters. Some of the 
opponents of the Maine law had stirred the pool 
of public opinion profoundly enough to give inter- 
est to a debate planned to occur at the school- 
house. The subject was the unadvisability of 
changing the young law, and licensing the liquor 
traffic. Judge Alton was announced as chairman 
of the meeting. 

Titus Potwin resolved to be present and speak 
for the license side. He knew it would please 
Miles Baker and quite a strong element in town 
whose favorite war-cry was “ moderation.” He 
had heard that Judge Alton had invited Paul to 
speak, and he gave a “ guess ” that Paul must be 
a “ feenatic.” He wished to put his foot upon this 
aspirant from college, this “worm,” one Endicott. 
Titus had not been asked to speak, and while de- 
siring to crush Paul, he wished to show Judge 
Alton that he had made a serious mistake in not 


THE DEBATE. 


251 


asking one Titus. Were there only these three 
reasons ? Titus did have a fourth ; the advisability 
of licensing the liquor traffic was his personal view 
of the subject. He intended in life generally to 
color his views after the tinge of those in the com- 
munit}^, but he did have a color that could in this 
case be termed a pure Potwin shade. 

The night of the debate, the schoolhouse was 
full. Judge Alton occupied u the chair,” which 
was one of a plain fashion stationed in Paul’s pen. 
Others squeezed into the seats of the scholars, and 
might well have wished that they or the seats had 
been of rubber. Judge Alton spoke on the no- 
license side of the subject, against the saloon, 
and any legal changes that would favor it. Par- 
son Partridge fiercely denounced the saloon. He 
painted it black and painted with a free hand. 
Simon commented on the style of the painter and 
the nature of his paint, when subsequently discus- 
sing the meeting with Samantha. “ That — that 
was a fust-class performance ! A magic mind ! 
A masterpiece, Samanthay, I tell ye ! ” was Simon’s 
opinion. 

The majority of the speakers used the same 
kind of paint. No-license, a sentiment against 
any change in the State law, was prevailing in the 
meeting. 

“ Where is that Endicott feller ? ” wondered 
Titus. 

He had been hoping Paul would speak first. 


252 


THE DEBATE. 


Then Titus intended to “ demolish ” his work and 
“ lay out ” the worker. 

Miles was rubbing his hands in anticipation of 
that “ demolition,” for in some way it had leaked 
out that the two schoolmasters were going to speak 
on opposite sides of the question. Amanda had 
faithfully gathered up this leakage and carried it 
home from school. 

“ I tell ye, Sis,” Miles remarked at the supper- 
table, “ the chips will fly to-night ! That Titus is 
a great feller on a debate. Why, I spect to see 
him in Congress yet ! And ’twill be home yeast,' 
and none of your foreign brewin’, none of your 
imported stuff, that will raise him there. Another 
cup of your tea, Sis ! Give it to me hot ! I want 
to feel it. Yes, none of your foreign brewin’! 
Home yeast every time ! ” 

“ What, pa ? Why, it is-s-s tea ! ” 

“ Oh ! Sis, I was only a-sayin’ that ’ere about 
Titus.” 

Miles was so elated by his success in working 
up the yeast figure that he said , 44 Sis, I don’t know 
but I shall take part in that debate myself.” 

“ Now, pa ! ” drawled Amanda, who did not 
share in her father’s high opinion of his oratorical 
abilities ^ 44 if you do, I s-shall grab your coat-tails-s 
and pull you down.” 

44 Suthin’ of a pull, Sis ! Oh ! I think I could 
lend a hand. I will see how the thing goes. I 
don’t want to see fee-nat-i-cisum rule the hour. No, 



AMANDA BRINGS WORD ABOUT THE TWO SCHOOLMASTERS. 







THE DEBATE. 


253 


no ! ” he proudly cried aloud, pounding the table. 
“ Let not fee-nat-i-cisum rule the hour.” 

Another sharp oratorical flash. 

“ Why, pa, you — crazy? ” 

“Haw-haw, Sis ! ” roared Miles, tipping his head 
back. “ Jest had a thought; that’s all ! ” 

Miles was so tickled with this last glitteij of the 
gold within that he inwardly resolved he would 
any way “ lend a hand.” Without any further be- 
trayal of his purpose, but simply saying, “ Sis, you 
might keep store awhile,” he retired to the barn, 
lantern in hand, there to “ practice a leetle,” as he 
put it. 

“ I’ll jest imagine the critturs are my — my — 
the ones I’m talkin’ to,” said Miles, facing the 
horse, “ Old Brick” (so entitled from his color), and 
then that he might reach all his auditors, he pur- 
posed to shift his position and face “Puck,” the 
pony, “ Old Black-and-White,” the cow, and his 
two stalwart oxen. Miles resolved to open his 
speech with a complimentary allusion to Titus 
and apply to him that brilliant table metaphor of 
home yeast. With the other spark of fire struck 
out at the table, he intended to close his fervid 
remarks : “ Let not, Mr. Chairman, let not fee- 
naticisum rule the hour ! ” “ That will take, I know, 
and then, I’ll jest stamp my foot when I close up. 
Some speakers do it,” concluded Miles. “It gives 
force to what you say.” 

He now began. First facing “ Old Brick,” he 


254 


THE DEBATE. 


shouted, “ Mr. Chairman, I am an advocate of 
home yeast ! ” 

“ Old Brick ” took so little notice of the remark 
that Miles moved to the pony’s stall and addressed 
him upon the merits of home talent. Turning back, 
he then advised “ Old Black-and- White ” against 
extravagant views, and urged her to be moderate. 
He next proceeded to tell “Joe” and “Bill,” the 
oxen, why they had better be moderate and not 
rashly vow they would never drink again. He 
now came back to “ Old Brick ” and warned him 
if he took an extreme stand on this subject, it would 
effect business, and trade would leave the streets 
where he walked. “Guess I won’t say much 
more,” thought Miles. “ Always best to be brief. 
I will jest wind up now. I’ll give ’em a blast on 
fee-naticisum.” 

He faced “ Puck” for this purpose, but the pony 
was excited by the unusual deportment of his 
master. Such a mad harangue as that master was 
making ! Facing one way, then wheeling about 
and facing another way, capering and shouting, 
raving and gesticulating ! 

“ Let not fee-naticisum ” — Miles was shouting, 
and at the same time he gave the floor a tremen- 
dous pound with his foot. Just there the floor 
was weak, and Miles had previously known it and 
intended to make it strong, but he forgot the weak- 
ness now, and down through the floor he went, 
while the pony, in his fright, forgot all about 


THE DEBATE. 


255 


“ moderation,” sprang backward, broke his halter, 
and pranced about the barn. 

“ Oh — oh ! ” groaned Miles, drawing himself up 
out of the hole, and then limping about in slow, 
painful pursuit of his pony. “ Those fenatics will 
break down the foundations in just that way. 
Hold ! ” he exclaimed. “ Why not bring that in 
to-night ? I will, see if I don’t ! I will speak 
of feenaticisum breaking up the foundations of 
society. Now I’ve got it ! Hoo-ror ! ” 

Congratulating himself that he was thus giving 
proof of the highest oratory — an ability to turn to 
advantage any adverse circumstances while speak- 
ing — Miles seized his lantern and withdrew from 
the barn, rubbing his side where it had been bruised 
in his fall. 

The evening came for the debate. At the meet- 
ing Miles was patiently waiting for Titus’s speech, 
when he would follow with his compliment to 
“home yeast.” Titus was tired of waiting for 
Paul, and concluding that Paul might not speak, 
at last slowly and pompously arose. Pie began 
by bitterly denouncing “ imported ideas ” brought 
by people who came to town thinking they knew 
everything. Here he faced Paul, but what Paul 
had had to do with this present temperance inter- 
est, it would have been difficult to say. The audi- 
ence noticed Titus’s attitude, and Paul’s friends 
were indignant. They did not, though, understand 
Titus’s motive. He wished to deter Paul from 


256 


THE DEBATE. 


speaking, and what he said was rather of the 
nature of a warning, intended to terrify this 
3 r oung parvenu from 44 Brumswick,” and keep him 
muzzled. 

Titus went on roaring, beating his arms about 
as if he had a quantity of wheat to thresh and 
he must do it thoroughly. He succeeded in beat- 
ing out a good deal of chaff before he had finished. 
It was in general a lazy, fleshly concession to appe- 
tite, rather than the presentation of a bold, vigor- 
ous, self-denying front to an open evil. 

He said that alcohol was an easy product, and 
men would be likely always to make it, always to 
drink it, and always to sell it ; therefore, it was 
better to leave open this question, What should 
be done with liquor ? — better to take moderate 
views, not extravagant ones ; better to use moral 
suasion, and as for legal suasion, 44 well, the less 
the better,” for men would buy and men would 
sell, and it was useless to oppose them. 

44 Facts are against suppression of the traffic,” 
roared Titus. 44 Be moderate and be sensible ! 
We can take care of ourselves. Home forces are 
enough. Show common sense in this thing. 
Sense enough in this old town without foreign 
help ! ” 

Miles applauded heartily this appeal to modera- 
tion and local patriotism. His big boots threat- 
ened to make the floor beneath him weak as that 
in his barn. 


THE DEBATE. 


257 


When the boots of Titus’s follower came to a 
halt, a modest voice was heard, and it stilled at 
once the stirring in the seats, the coughing and 
the laughing. It was the voice of the teacher “ on 
the north side ” of the river. 

Paul shrank from participation in a debate which 
made him so prominent, but Will Gaines had once 
told him that it was “ best for a teacher to be 
public-spirited, and give a helping hand to every 
struggling good cause.” Will’s successor, though 
bashfully postponing action, had resolved some 
time to raise his voice in the debate. Besides, a 
little wind of gossip had taken to Paul’s ears a re- 
mark purposely winged by Miles, that “ teachers 
had better not be extravagant in any stand they 
might take ’bout the issues up for discussion, but 
let ’em be prudent.” 

This hint had affected Paul’s conscience some- 
what as a spark will influence a barrel of gun- 
powder. 

Will Gaines, who understood Paul, had once 
said : “ Don’t try to dampen the young man’s 
courage and extinguish his ardor by any of your 
remarks about cultivating prudence and avoiding 
extravagance. Dampen Paul Endicott’s ardor? 
That stuff would affect the young man somewhat 
as a dash of water the blacksmith’s hot, roaring 
fire.” 

Paul was determined he would speak at the 
debate, and especially if Miles Baker were there. 


258 


THE DEBATE. 


He had now found his feet, and he began his reply 
to the teacher on “ the south side ” of the river, 
whose sneers had operated on Paul somewhat like a 
mitrailleuse discharge of bee stings. He was quiet, 
however. He controlled the turmoil within. He 
conceded the great value and absolute necessity of 
moral suasion, and that law to be efficient must be 
backed by public sentiment. But while he appre- 
ciated moral suasion and would always begin there, 
he would not end there. The law must be used. 
Because men would always be likely to steal, shall 
we not forbid theft and punish theft? We per- 
suade people to be honest; we punish them for 
dishonesty. Why not use legal suasion and moral 
suasion when we confront the traffic of the rum- 
shop ? “ There are two classes we ought specially 

to bear in mind,” affirmed Paul, “when we are 
tempted to use moral suasion alone and let legal 
suasion slide. One class is made up of those 
who have not begun to drink — the young — and 
any teacher, especially, ought to appreciate that 
argument.” 

Here Paul chanced to look down at a small seat 
into which had been compressed a good-sized 
bundle of humanity. He saw two brown eyes 
turned up to him. Neither eye was straight or 
young, but both flashed with the enthusiasm of 
youth and a noble singleness of purpose. Across 
the wrinkled features in which the two brown eyes 
were set, swept a sympathetic smile. 


THE DEBATE. 


259 


“ He’s a-givin’ it to Titus ! ” murmured Saman- 
tha. “ Go on, Mr. Rendercut ! ” 

Paul did not hear. He saw, however, the ardent 
sympathy in Samantha’s flashing eyes, and valiantly 
he went on. 

“ Keep the young and the inexperienced away 
from the evil that we discuss here to-night. Use 
moral suasion. Also shut up the beverages that 
might tempt them. Use the law. And then there 
are the old drinkers. I pity them and want to 
help them, but something besides talking must be 
done. That the drunkard may stop buying, it is 
a plain necessity that somebody must stop selling. 
As for the class between the two — the moderate 
folks — it has been said here to-night that they 
can take care of themselves, and I propose to say 
nothing about them, but let them in their superior 
wisdom, saying they can take care of themselves, 
try it.” 

The audience was now breaking into lively ap- 
plause. Looking down, Paul saw his female ally 
wedged into one of the front infant seats. Her 
lips were firmly compressed. Her two hands she 
was energetically beating together as if two cym- 
bals in a band of music. She afterwards made 
this confession to Simon : “ Durin’ the ’plaudin’, 
seems to me I’d gin our farm if I could have had 
on a pair of good cowhide boots.” 

“ What for ? ” asked Simon. 

“ I’d have made a hole in the floor with them,” 


260 


THE DEBATE. 


replied the partisan. 44 Yes, I’d have used feet 
as well as hands, and kept both ends a-goin’.” 

“ It is said,” resumed Paul, 44 that facts do not 
prove the wis # dom of trying to stop the drink 
traffic. I have a few figures I would like to 
furnish.” 

Titus had bellowed, “ What are the facts, facts, 
facts?” At each word he had delighted Miles by 
furiously pounding the desk near him. Paul now 
furnished facts. He mentioned two towns. “ One 
had said something can be done ; it is of use to 
try to fight the drink evil. The other town had 
said we can’t stop the thing ; we will let it slide.” 

Paul carefully arrayed his figures. It was like 
the planting of batteries. It did pay a town to 
make an effort in this matter, and where the grog- 
shop was suppressed, pauperage, crime, police ex- 
penses were all diminished. Toleration of the 
drink evil meant the swelling of taxation. 

“ It means,” affirmed the schoolmaster, “ that if 
this evil of drink grow', other evils grow. Take 
the ax to the poison-tree. Mr. Chairman,” calmly 
concluded Paul, “ all this proves that a little com- 
mon sense is left on our side of the question.” 

While Paul’s sympathizers enthusiastically ap- 
plauded his words, Titus was rising to reply. The 
hand of a veteran orator restrained him. 

44 Hold on, Titus,” whispered Miles. 44 1 want 
to plaster a compl’ment on ye. I’ll fix that chap 
and his nonsense. I’ll lay him out.” 


THE DEBATE. 


261 


Titus wished to receive this hinted homage to 
home talent. The wish overcame his purpose 
to make a reply to Paul, and up sprang Miles. 

44 Ahem-m-m ! ” grunted Miles fiercely, smiting 
his hands together to let the audience know that 
somebody was coming. 

44 Pa, pa, s-set down,” whispered Amanda Baker, 
grabbing him by the skirts of his coat. Miles, 
though, was not to be pulled down by 44 a 
woman.” He hemmed again, slapped his hands 
together, and with eyes fiercely glaring, shrieked, 
44 Mr. Chairman, I believe in home yeast ! ” This 
original thought electrified the audience, and every 
face was turned towards Miles. 

44 So far, so good ! Titus shall have his des-erts,” 
thought Miles. 

He shouted again, feeling that he had made a 
good, a telling point, 44 Mr. Chairman, I believe in 
home yeast ! ” 

It happened that a few years before, Miles had 
manufactured this article, and had tried to drive 
from the market a competitor who was bringing 
into town a foreign yeast made five miles away. 

Miles had forgotten this fact, but at any public 
meeting some people are always present who never 
forget anything. One of this class had come that 
night to the schoolhouse. He now smiled at Miles, 
and said in low but audible tones, 44 That is true, 
Miles; you tried that.” 

People began to titter. 


262 


THE DEBATE. 


Miles himself smiled at the man with a memory. 

The allusion, though, threw Miles’s intended 
train of thought off the track. Another diverting 
object was a filial hand violently tugging at his 
coat-tails. Diversion in front and opposition in 
the rear were too much for him. His thoughts 
in a drove all left him, and he stood blandly smiling 
while vacantly staring. What possible idea was 
anywhere within reach ? He made a grab, though, 
at — something. 

“Mr. Chairman,” he yelled, “I — I — I” — He 
gasped for breath. He coughed. He blushed. 
People laughed, i 

Now, he was mad. 

He began again : “ I believe, Mr. — Mr. Speaker 
— in — in — in — ” — 

“ Home yeast ! ” exclaimed an irrepressible boy. 

The schoolhouse was in an uproar. Miles was 
hopelessly lost. He saw nothing but a tossing sea 
of faces. He heard nothing but laughter. Every 
thing like an idea had gone from him. What 
could he lay his hands on and make it available ? 
Amanda, though, was the one who was laying 
hands on available objects. She had again grasped 
those beloved coat-tails, and with a vigorous jerk, 
she brought him down into his seat. The perspi- 
ration had gathered in cold and seemingty solid 
drops on his forehead, and he began sadly to wipe 
the front that had only emptiness behind. 

It was just as well that he took his seat, for if 


THE DEBATE. 


263 


he had staid on his feet through the meeting, it is 
doubtful whether a clear, sensible thought would 
have returned to him, supposing he had had one 
in the first place. 

44 Why, Sis,” he confessed to Amanda after the 
meeting, 44 1 never felt so empty-headed, so holler 
in my life. I was chock-full afore the meetin’, and 
out in the barn I went all over my piece. Why, 
if you had supplied me with words — yes, poured 
’em into me out of a hogshead ” (the head of a 
relative, it seemed, that night), 44 if you had shot 
’em into me out of a gun — yes, driven ’em into me 
with a mallet and rammed ’em down with a ram- 
rod, I don’t believe I could have got ’em off there 
in the schoolhouse. I — I — did feel riled up 
when you were a-jerkin’ on me, but the moment 
I was down, I was real grateful. I don’t believe I 
could have got down without your help, but stood 
there a-grinnin’ and a-reachin’ out like a — a — 
monkey, mad, too, as a March hare ! The last 
time I will ever try to make a speech on temp’- 
rance. Never did think much of that kind of a 
meetin’, and I think less now. This person has 
done as a temp’rance speaker.” 

When Miles sat down, somebody rose amid the 
confusion, and his voice quickly hushed the merri- 
ment. The people had heard him before and knew 
that he must have something now to say. They 
respected his private life, and were glad to hear 
him in public. It was Simon Hanscom. 


264 


THE DEBATE. 


“ Mr. Cheerman, our young friend who ably 
proved by facts that to forbid the sale of liquor 
was a good thing to do, urged us to keep on doin’ 
it, especially for the sake of those who had not 
begun to drink and those who had got so far that 
it was hard to stop drinkin’. He said he would 
pass over the moderate drinker ; I want to say a 
word about him.” 

He then gave the case of a man who thought it 
entirely safe to “ take a leetle,” and then in a sim- 
ple, unaffected way told the story of a drunkard’s 
life, taking him as a moderate drinker and follow- 
ing him to his unlamented grave. He closed : 
“ Every moderate drinker does not make a drunk- 
ard, but the safe drinker — he drinks not at all.” 

Simon’s voice had a peculiar pathos to it, and 
Paul saw Samantha’s handkerchief going up to 
her eyes very soon. She knew that the nameless 
person with the shameless career was Simon’s 
brother. Nobody else knew, but the story was 
affecting enough to set in motion many handker- 
chiefs besides Samantha’s. 

“ Stuff and nonsense ! ” Titus Potwin went out 
of the room pettishly saying, but not audibly. He 
was too politic for that. Miles Baker quickly fol- 
lowed Titus. Those in sympathy with the no- 
license side of the question were not sorry to see 
this exodus, for they knew it took out of the 
meeting an element that would have interfered 
with its success. 


THE DEBATE. 


265 


“ I don’t think we really need to take the sense 
of the meeting upon the question,” said Judge 
Alton; 44 but still we will do so, and I am going to 
call for a show of hands, and in the meantime, per- 
haps Mr. Endicott will be preparing a pledge. 
The interest is so good, I am thinking some one 
may be here who would like to sign.” 

Pledge-making was new work for Paul, but he 
remembered Will Gaines’s advice about giving a 
helping hand, and he prepared a pledge. After 
the very general lifting up of hands favoring 
no-license, the judge said, “ We are ready for 
signatures.” 

And who was it that came forward to write the 
first name ? 

44 It is not one of the people about here,” thought 
Paul. 44 He dresses too fashionably. I can’t make 
out his face, his coat collar is turned up so high. 
He looks as if he did not want people to see him.” 

The stranger stepped forward to a table brought 
out of the girls’ dressing-room and placed in front 
of the desks for the convenience of signers. Hur- 
riedly he attached his name to the pledge and then 
left the room. Had the judge spoken to him ? 
Paul thought that Judge Alton leaned forward 
and whispered to the signer. Then the judge 
blushed, and nervously beckoned to Paul. 

44 1 — think — I will go — if you will — take my 
place — Mr. Endicott.” 

The judge was no more agitated than Paul 


266 


THE DEBATE. 


when lie looked down and saw upon the pledge- 
sheet this signature, “ F. Gaines.” After the 
name the signer had written, “ God help me ! ” 

“What?” thought Paul. “ F. Gaines?” But 
the judge was speaking. “Mr. Endicott, you 
make another pledge and let me take this. Keep 
them at it.” 

“ What — what, sir ? What shall I do ? ” asked 
the embarrassed schoolmaster. 

“ Oh ! do — anything — and it will — be all 
right. Excuse me, please,” said the judge, in a 
low tone, and yet excitably, and he left the room. 

“ Well,” thought the master, “I’d like to follow 
F. Gaines, too, but I’m left here. This is new 
business for me. What — what am I to do with 
this meeting? This is a fix.” 

He would have abruptly closed the meeting, but 
looking up he saw Simon Hanscom’s face. He in- 
stantly recalled what Simon once said to him : 
“ When a teacher comes in town, I like to see him 
take holt and push things. Now we used to live 
down by the sea. I liked to watch them cricks 
work their way up into the mash. Some of ’em 
ran up a piece, went straight ahead and stopped 
when they got thar, a-turnin’ neither to the right 
hand nor the left. Others were the curusest 
things. They’d branch here and they’d branch 
thar. They’d help a fisherman go one way and a 
farmer with his mash-hay another, and a picnic 
party a-tother way, and so on, doin’ a sight of 


THE DEBATE. 


267 


good. Now some teachers come to town and they 
are like that fust crick makin’ a straight run and 
turnin’ off for nobody. Others branch out, lend a 
hand here and agin thar — awful handy ! ” 

When Paul looked at Simon he thought of the 
bustling, helpful little creeks. He saw, also, Sa- 
mantha’s crooked brown eyes smiling at him, and 
she was beating her hands together. Others be- 
gan to clap. In a state of bewilderment yet as- 
sent to the responsibility laid upon him, Paul rose. 
He ventured to say, “ The meeting will go on, 
please,” though he could not see how it could 
go on. 

When Judge Alton went, it seemed to Paul as 
though he took everything with him, not only the 
motive power of the meeting, but the very track 
on which it had been running. What had he left 
behind? Not even the wheels. 

“ Nothing ! ” thought the bewildered young 
chairman. He began to feel like Miles Baker. 
But at such a time, when a meeting has developed 
much interest, it will take care of itself. It is like 
a stream finding its own way and running without 
any guidance from the outside. The clear, sweet 
voice of a woman, birdlike, began to sing, “ The » 
morning light is breaking.” Other voices united 
in this awakening hymn. As it went on, it grew 
in volume. The notes rolled through the old 
schoolhouse and filled it. Paul looked up and 
saw the wife«of Simon joining in the hymn. As 


268 


THE DEBATE. 


she sang, the tears rolled down her cheeks, while 
her lips quivered. 

“ I — I’ll prepare another pledge,” Paul thought, 
“ while they are singing. This gives me time, but 
what will they do then ? ” 

The hymn concluded, the leader said, “ If there 
are any more signatures to be received, there is an 
opportunity now.” 

“We might sing while they are coming for- 
rard,” suggested Simon Hanscom, and then he 
started the old battle-hymn for fighting saints, 
“ My soul, be on thy guard.” There was not one 
other signer besides “ F. Gaines,” and nobody 
guessed who he was, save Paul, but the people 
sang and sang and sang as if a magnificent victory 
over rum and all its allies had been gained, as if 
scores had signed and as many more were sure to 
sign at another meeting. Then there were those 
who wanted to pray, and so with prayer and song 
the time was crowded, and all went away saying 
it was a wonderful meeting. 

Paul lingered after the audience had gone. He 
closed any window opened during the meeting to 
cool the enthusiastic and heated spectators. He 
made sure that the old box-stove was carefully 
guarding its fiery embers. Then before he blew 
out the light, he looked at the empty pledge. 

“ No name there,” reflected Paul; “but what of 
the first pledge? That name, F. Gaines! That 
might be Will Gaines’s brother, and# yet two per- 


THE DEBATE. 


269 


sons may have the same name. Wish I could 
have seen his face ! And queer, wasn’t it, how the 
judge acted ! F. Gaines. Now that must be 
Will’s brother. I’ll find out; maybe the Hans- 
coms can tell me if there’s any F. Gaines in 
town.” 

He extinguished his lamp, locked the school- 
house door and went home. The more he thought 
about “ F. Gaines,” the more that name excited 
him. He halted on his way to his chamber to say 
to the Hanscoms in the sitting-room, “ Splendid 
meeting, to-night.” 

“Power thar!” responded Simon enthusiasti- 
cally. 

“ If I do say it, I think ’twas the best temp’rance 
meetin’ I ever ’tended in my life,” said Samantha, 
her twisted brown eyes working excitedly. 

“ It is true we only secured one name,” re- 
marked Paul carelessly, wondering how he could 
learn about “ F. Gaines ” all that he wished. 

“’Tis true, Mr. Endicott, but seed was sown 
thar to-night that will bring a great harvest in 
some day, and a big crop of names to the pledge, 
too ; that’s my opinion,” said Simon. 

“ I wonder who F. Gaines is ? ” remarked Paul. 

“ That’s what S’manthey and me can’t make out.” 

“ The judge seemed agitated,” continued Paul. 

“ He couldn’t help hisself,” observed Paul’s 
landlady. “ From all I can hear, he has reason to 
feel deeply interested in the subject of temp’rance.” 


270 


THE DEBATE. 


44 How so, Mrs. Hanscom ? ” 

44 Why, we hear there’s a skel’ton in that family.” 

“ A what ? ” 

44 A skel’ton. You know they say there’s one 
in every family.” 

44 Some trouble ? O, yes ! but what is it in that 
family ? F. Gaines the skeleton ? ” 

44 He didn’t look like it to-night,” remarked 
Samantha dryty. 44 A rather stout young man.” 

44 1 am very anxious to find out who F. Gaines 
is. Drink will make a skeleton of him,” Paul 
was about to remark, when a noise at the door 
interfered. 

44 What’s that ? ” asked Simon, starting up. 

44 Somebody sort of fussin’ with the knob as if 
they wanted to git in,” was Samantha’s opinion. 

44 Let me go,” said Paul. “You are tired, Mr. 
Hanscom.” 

44 You might take this lamp,” remarked Sa- 
mantha. 

Paul stepped to the door, and opening it saw an 
object that drove out of his head every thought of 
the family 44 with a skel’ton ” in it, every thought 
of the temperance meeting, and even of the F. 
Gaines mystery itself. 

44 Oh ! why,” he exclaimed joyfully, 44 Pve got it 
at last! ” Leaning against the doorstep like a tired 
pilgrim anxious to get in, was the old traveling 
bag lost the night of his coming to town. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

RUN AWAY. 

I N the front part of his store, Carberry Boyd 
kept groceries. In the rear portion, Car- 
berry’s neighbors said he kept a barrel of liquor, 
and slyly sold to all the thirsty that might call and 
would be likely to pay. Carberry ’s store was a 
very recent institution. After Carberry’s appli- 
cation for work, the day of the ride to the lumber 
camp, Judge Alton offered him a job at which 
Carberry turned up his nose. 

“ Not fit for a niggur, even,” he growled. 

He left the judge’s presence in flaming wrath. 
In some way he contrived to obtain on credit a 
stock of goods for a grocery. 

“ I’ll make money if it ruins me,” was his 
purpose. 

It was ruining his customers rather than Car- 
berry, for men who went into the front of the 
store, walking straight, went stealthily out of the 
back door making very crooked tracks. Carberry 
271 


272 


RUN AWAY. 


gave his liquor business as little publicity as possi- 
ble, but it did not escape the inspection of the pub- 
lic eye, and one object in the late temperance 
meeting was to work public opinion up to that 
right and ready activity where it would force out 
of business Carberry and two others selling rum 
on the sly, or else force their prosecution. 

Before Carberry ’s dirty store, one day, previous 
to the temperance meeting, stood Bill Potwin 
and Lem Skillings — the author of the chimney 
blockade. 

“ Come in, Bill,” said Lem. 

“No, I guess not,” replied Bill. 

“ But you used to come.” 

“ I know it.” 

“ Why not now ? ” 

“ I am going home.” 

“ No ; that is not why you won’t come. You’re 
gittin’ good. You’re a-tryin’ to be a saint.” 

“ No — I— I” — 

“ Nonsense ! that’s what the matter is with ye. 
Now you come in. I want to talk with ye. I 
don’t think as you do about that little job we did 
together, and you think of ownin’ up on it, you 
say. Now if you do, I’ll blow on ye. I’ll have 
the sheriff after ye. Yes, I will. Come, we had 
better talk it over. You come into Carb’ry’s, and 
if you don’t, it will be the wuss for you.” 

Bill was afraid of Lem. Regretting now that 
he had ever had anything to do with him, he felt 


HUN AWAY. 


273 


that he was in Lem’s power, and reluctantly he 
followed Lem into the store. 

“ A pound of sugar? ” Carberry was singing out 
to one customer at the counter. To a second he 
said, “ Jest step in back, and I’ll fix ye in a mo- 
ment. You want sugar, too, ha-ha ! ” 

The second man, in rough, dirty threadbare 
clothes, shuffled into a back hole, there to wait for 
Carberry and then to take his sugar at the bottom 
of a glass filled with vile rum. 

“ Ho ! ” shouted Carberry to Bill Potwin. 
“Where you been this long time ? Goin’ to turn 
over a new leaf ? Say, though, what are you up 
to ? ” 

“ Oh ! I am attending school,” replied Bill. 

“ Goin’ to that college-swell they say is goin’ to 
be a-spoutin’ at that temp’rance meeting ? Much 
good he will do with his notions. People want 
their liberty about drinkin’, and who’s a-goin’ to 
take it away ? I will be in there in jest a moment,” 
he now shouted to the free man who had gone into 
the little back den. “ You shall have some sugar.” 

Bill and Lem sat down on a greasy, hacked 
bench near a stove, and began to talk in a low 
voice. 

“ Bill, don’t make a fool of yourself. Of course 
you have got the article in your possession, or you 
say you have, but I wished now we had dropped 
it into that open place in the ice under the bridge. 
That would have ended it. Come, now, what is 


274 


RUN AWAY. 


the use of tellin’ the owner about it? He has for- 
gotten about it now. Nothin’ of value in it; no 
money, you know. I was a-taken back when we 
didn’t find any money in it. O, Bill! let it go. 
Don’t be a fool and own up.” 

This last solicitation he made in a coaxing tone. 

“ Well, Lem, I would like to oblige you. I — I 
— I will take all the blame on myself and say 
nothing about you, but I feel I must get it off my 
mind. I made a mistake in having anything to 
do with it ; I won’t make another in keeping still 
about it.” 

“ What a fool ! ” exclaimed Lem, with open dis- 
gust. “ See here, Carb’ry ! ” he shouted, “ are we 
obliged to tell everything we know in this 
world ? ” 

“ Everything we know ? ” said Carberry . “ Guess, 
then, you wouldn’t have much to tell on.” 

At this bright flash of wit, the two customers 
laughed noisily. 

“More’n you would have, I guess,” said Lem. 
“ I mean, must we tell of everything we do — own 
up?” 

“Own up? Guess folks over at the church 
would have their hands full ! ” 

Carberry liked to joke about “ perfessers’ fail- 
in’s ” and “ doin’s in church,” as he was pleased to 
term them, and tried to give his own conscience 
repose on that thin, hard bed of the reported fail- 
ings of good men and women. 


RUN AWAY. 


275 


“ There, Bill, that’s what Carb’ry thinks ! ” said 
Lem, pointing triumphantly at that great mouth- 
piece of good morals and pure religion. 

“ Well,” said Bill, “everybody must decide for 
themselves.” 

As he spoke, he rose and walked out of the 
store. Lem rushed after him and from the door- 
way shouted: “ Mind ye ! If you say a word about 
it, I’ll blow on ye to the sheriff. There is some- 
thing else where I have got ye, another job, and 
you know it.” 

Bill could not distinctly hear all that Lem said. 
The sweeping winter wind scattered some of the 
words in confusing echoes. Combining any words 
that he could catch, he was startled. He was not 
shaken from his purpose, however. “ I’ll do what 
is right, any way,” he said doggedly. 

He did as he had purposed. 

When Paul went to the door of his boarding- 
house that evening, he was surprised to find on the 
step his long-lost traveling bag. 

Fastened to the handle was this note, and it 
was read by Paul in his room a few minutes later : 

Dear Friend: 

I don’t know what you will think of me, but here is your 
traveling bag. It was found in the snow the next day after 
you came to town, and taken more for the fun of it; but I 
am sorry I had anything to do with it, and wish I had brought 
it back before. I hope you will forgive me. I believe every 
thing is here. Your unworthy scholar, 


William Pot win. 


276 


RUN AWAY. 


Bill was not at school next day. 

“ He feels too bad to come,” concluded the mas- 
ter. “ Boy has got a conscience, any way, to own 
up about that bag. I must see him. He will 
come to-morrow. Any way, I will say nothing 
about the note he sent me. He won’t stay absent.” 
But Bill did stay absent the next day. 

“ I've got suthin’ for ye, a piece of news my 
husband picked up this arternoon at Miles’s store,” 
said Paul’s landlady, when he went home at the 
close of the second day. 

“ What is it ? ” he asked. 

“ It’s about one of your scholars.” 

“ One of my scholars ? ” 

“ Bill Potwin’s run away ! ” 

“ Run away ? Why ! ” 

“ So they all say. I guess it’s so. He’s a Pot- 
win, and while I was a-hopin’ and a-thinkin’ he 
was cornin’ up under you, Simon says he knew 
what kind of blood was in him, and blood will 
come out, and he says I must make allowances. 
But I don’t know about this runnin’ away.” 

“ I am sorry.” 

“ Don’t they know where he lias gone ? ” 

“ Not a word.” 

Paul did not tell the Hanscoms about the note 
that came with the traveling bag, but the old lady 
made this shrewd guess : 

“ I didn’t tell you, Mr. Rendercut, jest afore 
dark, the same day your travelin’ bag came so 


BUN AWAY. 


277 


strangely, I saw a figger pass the winders sort of 
quick. I said to myself, 1 If ’twas broad daylight, 
I should say that was Bill Potwin.’ I didn’t think 
a mite about it sense more than the man in the 
moon, but it comes to me now, and I guess that 
Bill Potwin could tell suthin’ about your bag. 
Don’t know, you understand, but that is my guess, 
a kind of s’picion, but rogues are ketched that 
way sometimes.” 

“ I dare say.” 

“ However, I know you think it was Bill 
Potwin.” 

Paul did not know what to say to this without 
an acknowledgment that she was correct, and he 
therefore applied Will Gaines’s rule and said 
nothing. 

“ It was Bill Potwin walkin’ up and down, and 
that’s my guess that he was a-makin’ up his mind 
what to do about that bag,” said the shrewd 
Samantha. 

“ I would like to know where he has gone,” 
remarked Paul. 

Nobody knew, only that he had “ run away.” 
This fact was undoubted. Bill had heard Lem’s 
threat confusedly, when made at the door of Car- 
berry’s store, but it came to him in his reflections 
distinctly enough to move him to say, “ Lem will 
carry out his threat. I guess I’d better not stay 
’round here.” 

Bill had once stolen something from Lem, and 


278 


RUN AWAY. 


it was this theft which Lem threatened to divulge 
to the sheriff. 

Not only Paul but Sammy was sorry that Bill 
had run away. 

“ I shall miss him,” thought Sammy, in a few 
moments of rest between two periods of rather 
noisy vitality one evening. “ He was kind to me, 
Bill was.” 

He broke out suddenly into the inquiry, “ Grand- 
mother, where do you suppose Bill ran to ? ” 

“ Me ? How do you think grandmother can 
tell? If he hadn’t been a bad boy he wouldn’t 
have capered off so.” 

“ I’ll tell you, grandmother, where I think Bill 
went to.” 

“ Where, Sammy ? ” 

“ He ran off to sea.” 

“ What makes you think so ? ” 

“ Boys do go there, you know.” 

“ Boys ? ” she exclaimed. Then her eyes filled 
as with a sudden rain. She chanced to look at 
the vividly-colored picture of a ship on the walk 
Only a painted ship, only a painted sea, but how 
it stirred the old lady to the lowest depths of her 
soul ! 

“ Poor Bill ! ” she murmured. 

She was thinking of Ajax at the bottom of the 
sea, the real sea, cold, cruel, throwing itself in 
wrath on the rocks and the stretching gray sand. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THAT LITERATURE CLASS. 

LpDUCATIONALLY, Paul Endicott was a her- 
etic. Heretics may be heralds who see and 
declare the wiser days coming. Paul’s heresy 
would be orthodoxy now. His divergence from 
the trodden way was a belief in the elective sys- 
tem of education at college. He frowned upon 
the cast-iron course of those days, making little 
room for the gratification of individual tastes. It 
did not try to fay into the profession or business 
of the future days. It might relent a little and 
you might be a Greek or a German for awhile, or 
somewhere build on to the structure an annex of 
botany or mineralogy. It held tenaciously to the 
main purpose which was to give to every student 
so much mathematics, so much Latin, so much 
French, so much natural theology, so much chem- 
istry, so much mental philosophy, and so* on. 
The students were vessels into which knowledge 
was poured down, of a certain kind, of a specified 
279 


280 


THAT LITERATURE CLASS. 


quantity. There might be assimilation and there 
might not be ; the idea was to give the dose. 

Inwardly, Paul rebelled. 

“ Will Gaines,” he exclaimed, coming into Will’s 
room, one morning before prayers, “ I shall take a 
dead in my mechanics, this morning.” 

To take a 44 dead ” was the confession of abso- 
lute inability to recite, and this confession in the 
class room was like the hopelessness of the grave 
in physical relations. 

44 Oh ! I guess not,” said Will encouragingly. 

44 See here ! After mechanics will come calcu- 
lus. I shall never go into engineering of any kind, 
and tell me why I need the higher mathematics ? 
I shall be a lawyer, a doctor — or — a — a ” — 

44 A parson, that is it ! I see it in your looks, 
your very gait.” 

44 Oh ! stop. But whatever I am to be, I shall 
not be an engineer of any kind. Probably, I shall 
be a lawyer. Why not let my studies tend that 
way? Why tear round distracted among these 
bramble bushes ? ” 

44 If you are not decided, mathematics may keep 
you from something worse ; from making a deci- 
sion when not ready for it.” 

44 Well, but why not take a study I do have a 
liking for? I have no natural aptitude for the 
higher mathematics. Why not bring in the elec- 
tive system, so that my present tastes may be met, 
and quite probably my future wants ? ” 


THAT LITERATURE CLASS. 


281 


“ Can’t say,” replied Will, stretching out his 
elegant form on his chintz-covered lounge. “ Can’t 
say! I see you are getting on to your hobby. I 
know what the facts are; you are to hold open 
your mouth and receive what is spooned into it, 
and digest it if you can.” 

“ Of which digestion there is not very much for 
the most of us when we reach the calculus bill of 
fare.” 

“ Oh ! you are an innovator. You are an un- 
easy agitator, turning the world upside down.” 

“I shall turn you upside down,” said Paul, 
threatening to upset Will’s lounge. 

The tinkle of the chapel bell hurrying to prayers 
and a cold dish of mechanics before the hot 
breakfast in the old “ Commons,” ended the 
argument. 

Into his position as teacher of a country school, 
Paul took his convictions upon the subject of the 
elective system of studies. He found a freer at- 
mosphere in the schoolhouse by the bank of the 
river. While the teacher was expected to pack 
into his scholars so much arithmetic or grammar or 
geography or reading, he could load up any am- 
bitious pupil with a little astronomy, or Latin, or 
geometry, or almost anything else. The committee 
would not be likely to interfere. The teacher’s 
inability to teach Latin and other extras, or his 
unwillingness to teach them, were the only fences 
bounding the opportunities of a scholar. 


282 


THAT LITERATURE CLASS. 


In Titus Potwin’s school there was a certain 
course of fundamentals. Titus never deviated 
from it. It was iron this way and iron that way 
and iron still another way. His scholars were all 
forced to take one educational path. For instance, 
Titus reveled in mental arithmetic, “ Colburn’s 
Mental,” And how he gave it, page after page, 
to his scholars ! 

He would yell abruptly, “ Attention ! ” then 
“ Vacation ! ” That meant a change to something 
else. Not rest, by any means. 

44 Sit up in your seats.” 

44 Fold your arms.” 

44 Look this way.” 

After these successive orders sent out like vol- 
leys at soldiers to be executed, came something 
like this : 

44 If a man bought five cows, and each cow was 
worth twice twenty dollars, wh^it did he give for 
his cows ? Quick, now ! Quick ! Quick ! ” 

Then Titus would glare at them. 

Sixty terrified youths, their eyes staring, their 
bodies all sitting up stiff as stony corpses and 
seemingly changed into such frigid objects, would 
come to life the moment his yell was over, and 
might abruptly yell back, 44 Three hundred,” or 
44 a hundred and fifty,” or 44 a hundred.” 

44 No, no, blunderbusses ! Begin again.” 

Then like a machine, they would all open their 
mouths and let fly an answer, screaming, 44 Two 


THAT LITERATURE CLASS. 


283 


hundred!” The discharge would come like a 
missile from an old-time catapult. 

“ No, no ; that ain’t the right way to begin.” 

Once more the machine would start up, and the 
catapult would change to a mitrailleuse , the school 
sending this continuous volley : “ If one cow cost 
twice twenty, five cows would cost five times as 
much, and five times twice twenty are ” — 

“ K-kare-re-re-ful,” would roar the glaring Titus. 

“ Two hundred ! ” The “ hundred ” would burst 
like a bomb. 

“ Right ! 'Now I’ll give you a tougher.” 

He would glare more fiercely, and looking round, 
spy perhaps some poor timid girl, some Jerusha, 
looking shyly at a forbidden object, a boy on the 
other side of the schoolhouse. It was a crime to 
look at any other male than Titus. 

“ Find me seven per cent, of five hundred dollars, 
and divide it up among twelve farmers — quick.” 

He might notice now that Jerusha was looking 
at him. Waiting a moment perhaps until she was 
looking again at “ Tommy,” he would shout, “ Je- 
ru-sha, you give it ! ” 

Jerusha would jump. Her heart would jump. 
Every hair on her poor scared poll would jump, 
and at last these figures might jump out of her 
mouth, six hundred, or six thousand, or ten 
thousand. 

These examples just given in that delightful 
process of the “mental,” compared with Titus’s 


284 


THAT LITERATURE CLASS. 


problems generally, were like love and honey by 
the side of hate and vinegar. What “ twisters ” 
he had for his scholars. So he fondly labeled 
them. 

Will Gaines once witnessed Titus Potwin’s 
exercise in “ the mental ” and rehearsed it to Paul 
indignantly. 

“I won’t stretch my scholars’ brains on any such 
rack,” hotly vowed Paul Endicott. Those who 
discovered a relish for the “ mental,” he accumu- 
lated in a special class and fed out the “ mental ” as 
liberally as they could have wished. Those whose 
mathematical processes were slower, he treated 
differently and leniently. This application of the 
elective system was here successful. 

In another direction, when applied, an evil wind 
began to blow at once. In Annie Alton’s “set,” 
which included Sallie Ricker and Patty Weeks, an 
interest was developed in the study of English 
literature. Paul encouraged it. The three girls 
came with their text books to the teacher, present- 
ing themselves as a class already and finally 
formed. It was a case of “us four and no more.” 
Amanda Baker was piqued on account of this ex- 
clusiveness. The infection of her jealousy and 
dissatisfaction began to spead inside and outside 
of the school and very naturally Amanda’s father 
caught it. Miles consulted Titus Potwin one 
evening when he chanced to be in the store. 

“ Titus, what do you think of that class Endi- 


THAT LITERATURE CLASS. 


285 


cott is a-gittin’ up in literal* — in — wall, literary 

— eh — wall, what he is a-gittin’ up — poets and 
sich like — wall, isn’t it a leetle high for us short 
folks ? ” asked Miles, looking up deferentially into 
the learned face of Titus. 

“ I don’t know what that college chap is up to, 
Miles, what — what he is a-gittin’ up now. I 
know he’s up to his antics all hours of the day and 
night. Here’s what I mean to give my scholars, 
and that is a good solid dr-r-r-rill,” said Titus, with 
a deep drum-roll of his r’«, “ in the fundamentals. 
For your new-fangled notions that may tickle the 
fancy but never will raise a hill of potatoes, I 
would not give that for them.” 

Here Titus waved and snapped his coarse, red 
fingers emphatically, and Miles viewed admiringly 
the performance. It was like that of a famous 
ringmaster cracking his whip. 

“My idee, ezackly! I see, I see! Now these 
variations and innovations ” — Miles was delighted 
with the unexpected sonorousness of these words 

— “ Endicott don’t report ’em to the committee. 
I know I’m only the agent, look after hirin’ the 
teacher and so on, see to the schoolhus, but then 
he never talks with me and er — er pleasantly — 
er — confers as you do, and — and ” — 

“ What do you suppose those college chaps think 
of us, any way ? ” 

“ Look down on us, probably. Kind of ’rister- 
crats, ain’t they ? ” 


286 


THAT LITERATURE CLASS. 


44 And I am down on aristocracy, Miles Baker. 
I go in for a plain, thorough, every-day kind of a 
man, and ” — 

44 My idee ezackly,” chimed in the storekeeper, 
leaning forward and looking up admiringly. 

44 None of your airs for me! None of your hog 
Latin ! None of your — er — er — er ” — 

Titus did not know what dangerous, dynamite- 
kind of instruction Paul purposed to give to the 
new class. Here he stuck and floundered. Miles 
tried to help him out of this bog-hole : 44 None of 
your teachin’ to be ’ristercrats ! ” Miles grinned 
to think he had hit a mark. 

44 That is it,” said Titus ; 44 but I must be going.” 

Here the two men stuck out their hard, pimply 
red hands and gripped one another in a grasp 
as hard and iron-like as two selfish souls could 
make it. 

Of course, in due time, Paul heard of this dis- 
satisfaction of Miles. The Hanscoms felt that to 
be loyal they must be a kind of ear-trumpet, to 
bring to Paul any serious murmurs of discontent. 
It was a sincere loyalty. gj* 

44 What is it, Mr. Rendercut,” asked Simon Hans- 
com, 44 about Miles Baker not liking your young 
ladies’ literary class ? ” 

44 1 don’t know. What has he got to do with it, 
Mr. Hanscom ? ” 

44 Nothin’,” said Samantha promptly. 44 It is 
his place to do chores, hire the teacher, git the 


THAT LITERATURE CLASS. 


287 


wood, mend winders in the schoolhouse, and so 
on.” 

“No, I don’t s’pose he has anything to do with 
it,” remarked Simon. “ The committee ” — 

“ And Mr. Partridge, the chairman, has already 
said he liked it — that is, the literature class,” 
declared Paul. 

“ That’s it. Of course, he’d have a right to say 
that, and he couldn’t but like it,” said Samantha 
stoutly. “ I wouldn’t humor Miles, or notice him. 
I’d chuck him into the river.” 

The old lady could see no flaw in the school- 
master’s acts, and she would make no concessions 
to Miles. She would have promptly measured out 
to him his deserts, and given him a bath in winter 
under the bridge. 

“ I understand it,” said Simon blandly ; “ but it 
makes things sort of easy to talk ’em over with 
people. Now I know it ain’t Miles’s place to say 
nary a word, but there, I do like to see captious 
folks sort of handled and turned inside out by a 
word or two and they not know it. A gill of oil 
is wuth a gallon of vinegar to grease cart-wheels 
with, and they will run so slick and nice.” 

“ Miles’s wheels ain’t wuth the greasin’,” stub- 
bornly asserted the old lady. “ Grease him, and 
not his wheels.” 

The conference ended with a laugh all round. 

However, Paul thought the matter over, and he 
resolved that, if possible, without any compromise 


288 


THAT LITERATURE CLASS. 


of dignity, any surrender of rights, he would 
grease the district agent’s cart-wheels. 

Miles introduced the subject with this chance re- 
mark he made to Paul when in his store the next 
day : “ Anything new at school, Mr. Endicott ? ” 

“ New, Mr. Baker ? Same old story, you know.” 

“ O, yes ! I s’pose so.” 

“ Things move along in the usual way,” said. 
Paul. 

“ Got a new class, hain’t you ? ” 

“ Oh! there. Let me get your opinion. I have 
a class in English literature, or shall have.” 

The eyes of Miles shone. It was pleasant to 
be consulted. 

“ Very useful, you know. Don’t you think so ?” 

“Wall, wall ! ” said Miles, rubbing his hands and 
hemming, as if coughing any objection out of the 
way. “ I s’pose now the other scholars git their 
share of attention ? ” 

“Oh! certainly. That is a good point you 
make. And I am thinking whether you would 
not like to have Miss Amanda study it.” 

“Miss Amanda!” Miles liked the sound of 
that. A student allying fynself with village folks 
and making his Amanday a “ ’ristercrat ! ” Miles 
liked that also. How his eyes sparkled, and he 
rubbed his hands harder. If he could only have 
seen that beloved one peeping through a knot-hole 
in the raised lid of a soap box planted on the 
counter ! She had been behind it all through the 





THE GIRLS OF THE LITERATURE CLASS 








THAT LITERATURE CLASS. 


289 


conversation. She could not contentedly stay there 
any longer, but popped out to answer for herself. 

“ Mr. Endicott ! ” she simpered. 

“ La, Sis, how you scat me ! You been there ? ” 
exclaimed her father. 

“ Some folks-s are always-s round, pa. Mr. En- 
dicott, I should like to join that class-s-s. You 
s-see, pa, it is to know about poets-s-s and what 
they wrote, and people who wrote s-stories-s 
and ” — 

“ Oh ! I see, I see ! ” said Miles, not wishing to 
be classed as an empty head. “ I s’pose you’d find 
it useful. I — I, Mr. Endicott, I don’t have any 
objection. I — am willing. I — I think — it’s a 
good idee.” 

Paul was recovering from the effect of Amanda’s 
abrupt appearance, when this thought sent a shiver 
over him : “ Amanda does not object to the class, 
but what if the class should object to Amanda?” 

However, he concealed any forebodings, and 
when he left the store, the tickled Miles and re- 
joicing Amanda separated from him as if from a 
son and a brother. 0 

Not one word of criticism on the studies pursued 
in school did Paul ever hear after this. He did 
hear a remonstrance from another source the next 
morning. He was in the schoolhouse. He was 
stooping in the pen inclosing his throne, and 
hidden behind this wall, was searching for a pencil 
he had dropped. 


290 


THAT LITERATURE CLASS. 


The voices echoing from the dressing-room of 
the girls, just before school, would not have been 
heard if the speakers had once supposed that Paul 
was within hearing distance. 

“ Now, Patty Weeks, isn’t it too bad? ” 

“ What is it, Sallie Ricker ? ” 

“ Amanda Baker is coming into our class in 
literature.” 

“ Amanda Baker ! ” 

This was uttered in tones of indignant horror. 

“ Are you sure, Sallie ? ” 

“ Sophia Green told me, and Amanda herself 
told Sophia. That comes straight. No crooks in 
that road.” 

“Well, there’ll be a crook in this road. I feel 
like saying if Amanda comes in, I shall turn out.” 

“Just the way I feel like saying. Oh! there’s 
Annie Alton. I can see her out in the street. 
Let’s tell her.” 

The two girls scampered out of the dressing- 
room, and then flew through the schoolhouse into 
the street. 

“Well, well,” exclaimed Paul, “I have got my 
foot into it now. Annie Alton will probably feel 
the same way as Patty and Sallie. Amanda will 
be left alone in the class, and won’t it be interest- 
ing? I am sick of all this. I wish I were back at 
Brunswick. So much for trying to ride two 
horses. A peacemaker is never popular.” 

In the meantime, Sallie and Patty, who had 


THAT LITERATURE CLASS. 


291 


gone almost headlong into the street, almost upset 
Annie Alton when they reached her. 

After a succession of giggles and screams on all 
sides, Sallie asked Annie, “ Have you heard the 
news about the literature class, who is going into 
it?” 

The girls expected to see in Annie’s face a look- 
ing-glass reflecting their own disgust, but she 
looked very calm when she said, “ Yes, I heard of 
it at the post-office.” 

“Well, Annie, what do you think of it? Just 
spoils the class. We feel like leaving it. Don’t 
you ? ” inquired Patty. 

“ Well, I have been thinking it over. Sophia 
told me Mr. Endicott invited Amanda.” 

“ He did ? ” exclaimed Patty. 

“ Yes ; and oh! its shameful,” said Sallie. 

Annie now spoke. 

“You hold on. I shouldn’t wonder if it hap- 
pened this way — of course, I only imagine it — 
but Miles and Amanda have been talking abomi- 
nably about the literature class, and maybe Mr. 
Endicott did it to stop the talk. For I was in 
Miles Baker’s store this morning, and he said, 
4 Things seem to go pleasantly at school.’ I 
opened my eyes to hear that word of praise. 
Then he said , 4 Quite a nice study, that lit-lit-litter.’ 
There he stuck. 4 Literature ! ’ said I, surprised to 
hear him. A customer came in and I went out. 
There, girls, that is my guess how it happened.” 


292 


THAT LITERATURE CLASS. 


“Indeed!” said Sallie. “That makes things 
look different.” 

“ Why, yes ! ” exclaimed Patty. 

“ I say, girls,” resumed Annie, “ let Amanda 
come in if she wants to, and Sylvester Dixon, or 
anybody else — if ” — 

“ If what ? ” asked Sallie. 

“ Oh ! I was only thinking,” said Annie. Her 
thought was, “ If it will help Mr. Endicott.” 

But she queried whether that might not be too 
much of a confession of interest in “ the lion ” of 
the schoolhouse. 

“ Oh ! don’t you think,” here cried Prissy Smith, 
one of the younger scholars, as she ran up to the 
group, “ teacher got up out of his place, girls, 
after you had been talking in the dressing-room.” 

“ O, Sallie ! ” said Patty, her eyes turning into 
moons. 

“ O, Patty ! ” And when Sallie said this, her 
eyes were as big as Patty’s. Sallie told all to 
Annie, just what had been said in the dressing- 
room. 

“ I never can go into the class now,” said Patty. 

“ Nor I shouldn’t dare to,” asserted Sallie. 
“ Never, never, no, never ! ” 

Annie thought a moment. 

“ You let me fix it, girls.” 

“ If you can mend broken glass when you have 
nothing to stick it with,” said Sallie, “ why — 
do it.” 


THAT LITERATURE CLASS. 


293 


“ Don’t believe you can,” said Patty, “ when it 
is a smash like this.” 

Very soon, the despondent schoolmaster, who 
was “ setting some copy ” in a writing book, heard 
a rich, piusical voice at his desk : “ Mr. Endicott.” 

He looked up. When had Alcestis ever looked 
prettier? She seemed to have a pity also in her 
eyes for this much-tried schoolmaster. But Paul 
steeled his heart against any blandishments. He 
remembered that these same beautiful, pitiful eyes 
had been looking otherwise in school, and only 
yesterday she had been careless in recitation time 
and full of sarcasm and fun-making out of school, 
and the master knew he had been a target for 
some of her arrows. 

“ Miss Alton,” he said coldly, “ what is it ? ” 

The beautiful eyes did not even then lose their 
expression of sympathy, of cordial warmth. 

“ Will you tell me what our first lesson in liter- 
ature will be ? I think we shall have a pleasant 
class. I am glad Amanda Baker is coming in, and 
I hope more may. We will all be ready.” 

A schoolmaster cannot stand everything. A 
single scholar may be such a comfort. His face 
brightened and his voice softened as he answered 
Annie’s question. 

He could not refrain from saying, “ That helps 
me very much.” 

He could not help extending his hand, and 
Annie did not refuse hers, but promptly extended 


294 


THAT LITERATURE CLASS. 


it, and he shook it heartily, saying significantly, 
“ Thank you, Annie ; you are a good friend.” 

That day he seemed to be walking in the fields 
Elysian. When tired and discouraged and ner- 
vous and on the eve of a hasty remark, he felt the 
grasp of a sympathetic, helpful hand, and was 
drawn back again to the calm, beautiful fields 
Elysian. It seemed to him as if he would feel 
that sympathetic touch through life. 

Of course the Hanscoms heard of the end of the 
turmoil about the “ literature class.” 

“ Wall, Mr. Rendercut,” declared Simon, “ I 
heard about your invitin’ Amanda, and that was 
wise, and about your talkin’ with Miles. Now, 
you took all the wind out of his sails when you 
did that. I believe in gittin’ ahead of folks, and 
when they mean to be fussy and sassy, jest by a 
leetle management, bringin’ ’em right down to 
your feet. Yas, yas, you came out ahead.” 

One other person was very much interested in 
all this, and it was Aunt Maria. 

“Well, Annie, I really think Mr. Endicott tries 
to do his duty,” remarked Aunt Maria. 

“ Oh ! he is a very nice, well-meaning young 
man,” said Annie, in a quizzical tone. “ He prol> 
ably inherited it from a very nice father.” 

And into what a flutter that careless remark 
threw Aunt Maria ! She stole upstairs and took 
from a drawer a picture of somebody resembling 
Paul Endicott. As she looked at it, memory’s 


THAT LITERATURE CLASS. 


295 


dead roses were flushed again with color, opened 
their petals and breathed forth their fragrance. 
The birds of spring sang. The cold winter air 
fled away, and up the valley blew the warm south 
wind. Aunt Maria, too, walked in the fields 
Elysian that day. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


THE WONDERFUL COMING. 

HAT restless young Sammy was now more 



-L restless than ever. Alas, there was a sad rea- 
son for it — a reason that brought pain to the little 
fellow and sorrow to all in the house. In the 
distress of a dangerous fever attack, he was tossing 
about on his bed. There were two who specially 
watched over him — his grandmother by day, his 
grandfather and the schoolmaster by night. It 
made the day a drowsy one for Paul, but he would 
go to bed soon as he returned from school, sleep 
till midnight, and watch till sunrise. Snatching 
a very hasty nap, he would hasten to school. One 
day he felt peculiarly oppressed. The schoolroom 
was warm and close, and after the vigils of the 
night, an irresistible drowsiness stole over the 
master, and he began to nod. He was hearing at 
that time his advanced class in algebra, consisting 
of one, but this one weighed a good many pounds ; 
it was big Sylvester Dixon. He was explaining a 


296 


THE WONDERFUL COMING. 297 


problem that he had chalked upon the blackboard, 
and as he went on, the schoolmaster went off, his 
thoughts drifting farther and farther from the 
schoolhouse, its buzz dying away, and Paul was 
again in the stillness of the sick room. A face 
very white with disease was turned up from the 
pillow, and Paul bending over Sammy was about 
to administer the customary medicine. In the 
schoolroom that his thoughts had so completely 
vacated, sat in a chair the benumbed form of a 
man, his head rising and falling in slumber. 

“ Oh ! he’s asleep,” was the exclamation that 
somebody started. “ See ! ” 

One after another looked up, and with staring 
eyes and a broadening grin watched the master. 

“Too bad!” said Annie Alton to Patty Weeks. 
“ That poor man keeps school by day and tends 
the sick by night.” 

“ Yes ; and everybody knows it,” said Sallie 
Ricker. 

Sylvester all this time was deliberately explain- 
ing the binomial theorem spread out upon the 
blackboard. The master continued to nod. Sleep 
was so welcome to the body, and to Paul’s spirit 
the need of his presence in Sammy’s room seemed 
so urgent. Gradually, Sylvester was aware that 
there was a laugh behind his back. Turning, he 
saw row after row of grinning faces, and between 
him and those faces, was the head of the uncon- 
scious schoolmaster, going up and down steadily, 


298 


THE WONDERFUL COMING. 


a motion incessant and regular as the swell of the 
sea. Sylvester was puzzled to know what he 
should do, for he was on the side of authority and 
felt that a special responsibility rested upon him. 
Smiling awkwardly one moment, he then stepped 
forward to the master’s chair, and with a delicacy . 
as well as ingenuity of device, let an algebra drop 
on the floor. Slam-m-m ! # * 

It was enough to frighten the master’s thoughts 
away from the sick room, but not before he had 
confusedly exclaimed, “ Here — here, Sammy, take 
your medicine ! That’s a good boy ! ” 

The next moment he was in the schoolroom, 
trying to get his eyes open. Then he became 
aware that there was some disturbance among his 
scholars, who were merrily laughing. Then he 
was springing to his feet and shouting “ Silence ! ” 
Had — had he been asleep ? Sylvester, though, 
was going forward with his explanation as steadily 
as the turning of the wheels of an old tide-mill, 
and the mortified teacher tried to convince him- 
self that he might have been mistaken and had 
only lost himself for just an instant. It did not 
hurt him in his scholars’ estimation. 

“ That poor man giving medicine to little 
Sammy in school-time ! Now that’s real touch- 
ing,” wrote Sallie Ricker in her diary. 

When Paul went home that night, Mrs. Hans- 
com said, “ Haven’t heard anything to-day ? ” 

“No, Mrs. Hanscom.” 


THE WONDERFUL COMING. 


299 


“ Sammy somehow dotes on seein’ him. He 
spoke about it to-day. He wishes he could see 
Bill, he says, and hear him whistle.” 

“ Great whistler, that Bill,” said Paul. “ Seems 
to me I never heard anybody who could get as 
much music out of his puckered lips as Bill Pot- 
win. Well, I will tell you what I have done. I 
sent a notice the other day to our county paper, 
saying , 4 Wanted ! William Potwin is requested to 

call on Paul Endicott of the town of as soon 

as possible, and hear of a chance to do a pressing 
favor. Let there be no delay.’ There ! I did 
not know how else to put it.” 

“ That, Mr. Rendercut, ought to fetch him. 
Titus couldn’t have fetched him, but Bill might 
come to do you a favor.” 

School did not keep the next day, the last one 
of the week, but Paul went to the schoolhouse in 
the afternoon to work on his school register. 

It was wild, dreary weather. A hard, cold win- 
ter rain was somberly falling. Paul kindled a 
glowing fire in the old box-stove and drew near it 
the only table the school possessed, and placed on 
it his register and ink. 

“Now I will be comfortable,” thought Paul, 
and sitting down, began his writing. Somehow 
he could not keep Sammy out of his mind, and 
amid the details of his work he would see a thin, 
white boy-face looking at him. He caught the 
sound of the melancholy drip of the water from 


300 


THE WONDERFUL COMING. 


the eaves, and an occasional blast of the wind 
would strike and rattle the windows, and moan 
and howl for admittance. 

“ An ugly storm,” said Paul, at last rising, going 
to a window and then looking out. Paul saw a 
bit of the river’s white, icy surface and a little of 
the field beyond the schoolhouse, but the curtain 
of gray mist refused to lift and reveal any distant 
scenery. 

“ Cold, dismal,” said Paul, shrugging his shoul- 
ders. “ That river ice is Arctic enough.” 

“ What’s that ? ” he asked, catching a glimpse 
of a — what at another window? Did he see 
there a face looking in, Sammy’s face that haunted 
him ? O, no ! “ Bill Potwin ! ” he exclaimed, and 

bare-headed he ran out into the rain. Turning a 
corner of the schoolhouse, he saw Bill Potwin still 
at the window and pressing his face close to the 
dripping pane. 

“ William ! ” said Paul, running toward him. 
Bill started. Should he run? He had come back, 
though, to see this man, and he awkwardly crouched 
against the wall of the building, muttering some- 
thing not very distinct, but sounding as if it were, 
“ Saw you wanted me, and thought I would come 
back.” 

“ I am real glad you did. Now come into the 
schoolhouse, please, a minute, and then we will go 
to the Hanscoms’. Sammy is sick, and I wanted 
to tell you of it, for he wants to see you.” 


THE WONDERFUL COMING. 


301 


“ Sammy ? Is he very sick ? ” 

“ Yes ; I am afraid he won’t get over it. Where 
did you see the notice I put in the paper ? ” 

“ At a place where I have been doing some 
chores for my board, and I came soon as I saw it. 
I had to walk a pretty good rate.” 

“ How far?” 

u About ten miles.” 

“ Why, how wet you are ! Now you come over 
to the house with me.” 

They made Bill comfortable in borrowed cloth- 
ing, Paul lending him a pair of trousers, and Simon 
Hanscom furnishing a big, baggy coat and roomy 
“ wescut.” 

“ I don’t s’pose his folks want him to home,” 
said the old lady to Paul. “ They say Titus took 
on awfully ’cos Bill left, and Bill can stay here 
and have Ajux’s room and help me nuss Sammy.” 

In about fifteen minutes after Bill’s arrival, 
Paul, who had gone to his room, heard a sound. 

“ Hark ! What is that ? ” he wondered. 

He stepped out of his room, and heard more 
clearly a low, plaintive whistling. Then he fol- 
lowed the sound. He saw at last in an entry 
leading to the door of the sick room, Skipper Hans- 
com’s baggy coat moving slowly along. The 
pensive whistle came from the baggy coat, and the 
tune was “ Home, Sweet Home.” 

“ He is going in to see Sammy,” thought Paul. 

Bill cautiously pushed open Sammy’s door and 


302 


THE WONDERFUL COMING. 


entered, still whistling, but in notes yet softer. 
Then the door gently closed. 

“ Mr. Rendercut,” said the tearful Samantha to 
Paul, the two meeting in the kitchen within five 
minutes, “I wish you could have seen that ere 
meetin’. Nothin’ like it! I sort of prepared 
Sammy and told him somebody was cornin’, some- 
body who could whistle and — - ’twould have turned 
your heart to stone — er — er — heart of stone — 
jest melted it.” Here the old lady crammed a big 
piece of her long, brown apron into her dripping 
eyes. “ That was all I told him, somebody a-whist- 
lin’. That was enough ! ” said Samantha solemnly. 
“If he’d been an archangel he couldn’t have told 
quicker. Bless him ! He jest smiled and sez, 4 1 
know.’ The tune Bill played is a fav’rite with 
Sammy. They sing it up to the church — ‘ ’Mid 
scenes of confusion and creetur complaints ’ — 
’bout Home, you know. You step in and see ’em.” 

As Paul entered the sick room, he saw Bill in 
the rocking-chair, swathed in the farmer’s coat, 
which was so much too big for him, and he was 
thrusting out legs that were draped in Paul’s 
trousers. In Bill’s arms rested Sammy, a con- 
tented smile playing over his wasted features as he 
caught the soft tones of the famous musical in- 
strument that Bill carried in his mouth. The 
homeless one whistling about home ! It touched 
Paul profoundly. 

It was Paul’s turn to hold and comfort Sammy 


THE WONDERFUL COMING. 


303 


the next time he was uneasy and wanted to be 
taken up. 

“ Sammy, do you want me to tell you about the 
Coming, what the shepherds saw, about Him who 
was found as a babe in the manger? You like 
that?” 

“ Yes ; and ‘Nobody knows.’ ” 

“Well, I will sing that, too.” 

Paul sang in hushed tones Pomona’s song, “No- 
body knows the trouble I have seen,” and then he 
told about the coming One and the shepherd story, 
Paul folding Sammy in his arms somewhat as a 
shepherd holds to his bosom a sick lamb out in 
the pasture. Together they went to Bethlehem. 
There on the shadowy hills they tried to make out 
the crouching shepherds amid their huddling flocks. 
Together they were bewildered by the sudden 
sweetness of an angel’s proclamation of a Babe 
born that night. Together they were hushed by 
the majestic Gloria that a countless host in the air 
lifted like a great banner, singing so jubilantly. 
Together they hurried to a stable and bent over 
the Wonderful Babe in his manger borrowed of 
the cattle. 

“ You know He not only came that first Christ- 
mas, Sammy, but He comes often now, and we 
must ask God to give us grace to make room for 
Him in our hearts. That would be lovely,” said 
Paul, “ but we must ask God to make us ready to 
welcome Him.” 


304 


THE WONDERFUL COMING. 


“ Lovely ! ” said Sammy feebly. “ Lovely ! ” 

“We will ask God, Sammy, to help us have a 
place in our hearts ready for his coming any time.” 

“Yes — now — all — the — time,” said Sammy, 
shutting his lustrous eyes. That was the falling 
of prayer’s beautiful veil. There came a winter 
morning when, before the rising of the sun, there 
was in Sammy’s room a hushed, tearful group 
waiting for the end that the doctor said was not 
distant. This termination of the sickness had not 
been expected. Sammy had been pronounced 
better. With Bill Potwin had come hope. Sammy 
had sensibly gained in strength. It was only tem- 
porary. 

“ Don’t understand it,” said the doctor. “ A 
new phase of the disease, and I don’t see why, and 
— and — I can do nothing more.” 

It had been thought that Sammy would pass 
away the night before this morning of the end. 
The clergyman came just at dark. He besought 
God to give this child the blessing of a peaceful 
departure, and of an everlasting rest in his arms. 
The minister could do nothing more. Sammy did 
not go that night, but the soul still tarried there 
under the roof of Simon and Samantha Hanscom 
as if willing to go for its own sake, but wishing to 
tarry for their sake. How very quiet Sammy was 
now ! No more troublesome vitality. If Paul had 
ever borne with it patiently, or had thoughtfully 
tried to occupy it, be was very glad of the fact now. 


THE WONDERFUL COMING. 


305 


If he had failed to bear and forbear, he was very 
sorry. He had been bending over Sammy, watch- 
ing for any sign of an awakening out of the stupor 
into which he had fallen. Paul motioned to those 
who sat in the room, silently, tearfully waiting for 
this going of a young pilgrim, in the morning 
stillness, from the village. 

“ He is waking up,” whispered Paul. 

“Water!” said Sammy, languidly opening his 
eyes. 

As Paul gave it, he said, “Have you any pain?” 

Sammy shook his head. 

“ Don’t you know what I said about the Saviour’s 
coming any time ? ” asked Paul. 

Sammy looked up. 

“He — He — cornin’ ? ” 

“ Yes ; He is coming.” 

“ I’ve — got — a place — for Him,” whispered 
Sammy. 

“ He’s got a place for you, Sammy.” 

“Ask — Bill.” 

His voice was more audible. 

“ You want Bill to have a place ? ” said Simon 
Hanscom, bending above the white, still face. 

“ Yes.” 

“ I — I — will,” said Bill, breaking down and 
sobbing. 

There was a waiting in silence. Sammy’s eyes 
that had wearily opened, now closed. Then they 
opened once more. He looked around, looked up, 


806 


THE WONDERFUL COMING. 


and across his sight swept a sudden light like one 
flash of glory out of a morning sky that has been 
draped in gray cloud. Then the eyes closed again. 
That was all. That was the end. End ? It was 
the beginning. It was the Coming, the strange 
Coming that Sammy had been told about. 

But the Coming emphasized a going. In Paul’s 
thoughts he could see two going out of the village 
at an early morning hour. He looked, and he saw 
the hand of the young pilgrim held fast by One 
older, who on the earth had Himself been a pilgrim 
and a stranger, and now fastened compassionate, 
loving eyes on this boy called away to this strange 
journey. 

Paul could but think then of a going, even more 
keenly than he had anticipated. There was a 
great emptiness in the house where no one was any 
longer asked to move about quietly for Sammy’s 
sake, where no one was solicited to bring fresh, 
cool water from the deep well in the yard because 
Sammy was thirsty, or requested at night to stay 
in the sick room, where Sammy needed a watcher. 

Paul now stepped without the house. The sun 
had not yet risen. How keenly Paul felt the lone- 
liness as he looked into the wide, quiet street, 
hearing at that early hour not even the tinkle of a 
sleigh-bell, only the muffled, drowsy melody of the 
water running over the rocks beneath the bridge. 
He turned and went up a little elevation he some- 
times visited for the sake of the view it gave. 


THE WONDERFUL COMING. 


307 


The east was filled with a great and growing 
luminousness, out of whose heart any moment 
might break the sunrise-glory. Under these 
painted heavens were the stretching fields of snow. 
The scene was one of surpassing beauty, so white 
and pure was everything. People in tropical lands 
cannot possibly have any fair conception of the 
beauty of the white winter-land of the North. A 
watcher thinks at sunrise of two things only: the 
crystal of the snow, the glory in the sky. 

But Paul was not in a mood to appreciate this. 
In our Northern twilight one knows how long the 
day seems to be in breaking. Expectation is written 
across the eastern sky. Any moment you expect 
the sun ; but he lingers. The light sharpens. You 
can see it palpitate. It trembles as it throbs, beat- 
ing as if in an eager excitement, longing to break 
through any separating veil, yet breaking not. 
You say, “ It will certainly come now ! Look ! ” 

But it comes not. So Paul did not see any 
coming, and he was in a mood to think only of a 
going. This to him was only winter-land, the land 
of chilliness, emptiness, death. This glory in the 
heavens was only a mockery. There was expec- 
tation, but no fulfillment. Paul felt depressed. 
A burden was upon him. He turned with relief 
from the east to the west. He looked up the 
river valley, across far-reaching fields of the white 
snow. Suddenly he broke out as to a companion, 
“Oh! look.” 


308 


THE WONDERFUL COMING. 


It was a distant mountain mantled with snow. 
It rose above the winter-land in such a triumphant 
aspiration of purity. It strove to reach Heaven 
and it touched it, helped make it. This mass of 
alabaster not only seemed a pillar bearing on its 
summit the King’s House, but a part of its shin- 
ing wall. 

The mountain maintained its glory. Did dark 
forests stretch up to it as if to sully and break 
down and destroy its purity and triumph? It 
overtopped the forests and defied them. Did a 
blackish mist lie back of its base and threaten to 
envelop it ? It refused to be enveloped, to be sul- 
lied, to be discouraged by anything in any way. 
It towered and touched a bright sky. It rose 
to Heaven. Oh ! so white, so pure, so angelic ! 
Striving toward Heaven, it seemed let down from 
Heaven. 

It seemed also to be endowed with personality. 
It became a sympathetic being. It took away the 
load of Paul’s depression. It gave wings to his 
drooping faith. 

In this changed mood he turned suddenly to the 
east. There was the sun! Yes, one magnificent 
breaking forth of glory over the eastern hills. 
And this had been streaming down upon all the 
wintry whiteness and had illumined it. The light 
filled. every empty space. Oh! what a scene of 
Coming there was now ! In a flash all this glory 
swept through Paul’s soul and irradiated it. He 


THE WONDERFUL COMING. 


309 


thought of Him whom the sun typified. J ust as 
this sunshine would stream into lonely farmhouses 
and cheer up the despondent, would enter chambers 
and comfort the sick, would steal up to the weep- 
ing Simon and Samantha and say, 44 Peace,” would 
reach and brighten the dead Sammy’s face and 
whisper, 44 Life,” so the Lord Jesus had come to 
this earth and irradiated everything. 

All the busy thoroughfares of life bore the print 
of One walking there in love, visiting in sympa- 
thy the homes of men, resting the weary of heart, 
bringing light to those in the shadow of sorrow, 
giving hope to the hopeless, and victory to the 
defeated, of whom it was truly written, 44 Surely 
He hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows.” 
And of Him might fittingly be said, 44 In all their 
affliction He was afflicted, and the angel of His 
presence saved them ; in His love and in His 
pity He redeemed them ; and He bare them and 
carried them all the days of old.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

SHOULD HE TRUST HIM? 

S CHOOL discipline is unlike discipline any- 
where else. It is peculiar. It is unique. It 
involves the management of a student class, hav- 
ing ways and methods always distinctive, and its 
own. How peculiar this class may be is seen in 
the case of the students of a college who, while 
amenable to college laws, are swayed by an ill- 
defined yet positive code of honor, rising at times 
to the level of grand work, and then again it may 
descend to something hard, unjust and mean. 
Our present field of examination is the life of the 
town school. In its way, the humble district bee- 
hive is just as peculiar as the college life behind 
imposing walls of brick or stone. It is not all 
honey in the hive ; there are sharp stings also that 
may dart out and wound without warning. Into 
this peculiar school-world a young man or woman 
enters as teacher. The entrance, though, is not 
that of an instructor alone. This little world 


310 


SHOULD HE TRUST HIM? 


311 


must submit to authority, and the instructor be- 
comes ruler. A teacher might make a great mis- 
take if he should carry into the schoolroom the 
atmosphere and the methods of a policeman. He 
might make as great a blunder, if beginning his 
work he should say, “ I will be only as a parent 
to these pupils, and never a policeman.” What 
the parent at home could afford to bear with and 
treat leniently, the teacher may be obliged to 
notice promptly and sharply. He may find that 
he is a policeman, after all, and the one word writ- 
ten on his sky is Law. The parent’s patience, 
which through simple waiting may work marvels, 
the parent’s gentleness, which in its effects may 
be like that divine quality of which the Psalmist 
cried, “ Thy gentleness hath made me great,” in 
school must at times go to a back place. To the 
front must come measures resolute, uncompromis- 
ing, radical. The hand of the master or mistress 
must be like that of Rhadamantlius, the judge. 
But if the hand be that of Rhadamanthus, the 
heart behind must be human, that of a friend, a 
parent. When attainable, the highest form of 
school discipline is the parental. This good goal 
the teacher must press toward, even when one 
seems to diverge and aim at something else. To 
be a father, a mother, toward the boys and girls — 
that is the ideal relation between teacher and 
pupil. A school may be very far from the ideal 
standpoint to-day. The teacher may be ready for 


812 


SHOULD HE TRUST HIM ? 


it, but the scholars may not. They may look upon 
the teacher somewhat as the convicts in a prison 
chapel service regard that silent line of officers 
ranged all around the room, while the chaplain 
prays to God. .The teacher is somebody sent to 
watch the scholars, in the opinion of the latter, 
sent to see if they march in orderly, if they march 
out orderly, if they behave with decorum between 
the two marches, and the teacher must be ready at 
any time to pounce on any offender, and if he will 
not behave, drag him out. 

This feeling Titus Potwin’s scholars had toward 
Titus. He justified it. But the policeman that 
is on the outside of the teacher, ought not to forget 
the parent that is or ought to be inside. Toward 
this point, where his scholars will say of him, 
“ That man is a father to me,” he must steadily 
press. The woman must aim to create this feeling 
in her scholars : “ The teacher is a mother to me.” 
If persistent, and their scholars are under them 
long enough, they will reach the desired goal. 
Paul Endicott did not enjoy his duties as a dis- 
ciplinarian. He expressed his opinion in a letter to 
Will Gaines : “ I don’t like this part of school- 
keeping, Will ; the making my scholars mind. I 
like to teach them ; I don’t like to govern them. 
I suppose some folks like the position of discipli- 
narian, for there is not a thing in this world save 
hanging folks (I think that is abominable, and a 
disgrace to our century) — let me see ; where did 


SHOULD HE TRUST HIM? 


318 


I leave off ? Oh ! there is hardly anything in this 
world but that somebody likes to do it. There 
are people who like to manage people, like to sub- 
due them and maul them, or get round them and 
get into them and especially upon them by strategy. 
Now I just hate it. I want people to manage 
themselves. My hands are full enough just man- 
aging myself. I have got a case on hand, an old 
one, and yet it comes up in a new form. You will 
remember him as Bill Potwin, though I think we 
both have tried on him the civilizing effect of that 
name, William.” 

This was the old case of Bill Potwin in its new 
form : after his return from his runaway trip, he 
had been sheltered awhile, as we know, under the 
roof of Simon Hanscom, and he was of great 
assistance in caring for Sammy. After Sammy’s 
death, Titus Potwin invited Bill to come home, 
but the invitation was of that ungracious kind 
which reaches one in the same style as a bone that 
is kicked to a dog’s jaws. Bill took the rough 
welcome sensibly, saying : “ I went off from home 
in a measly way, and if I am taken back in that 
same fashion, I ought not to say anything. I’ll 

g°-” 

The day he went home Paul Endicott met him 
in the street. 

“ William,” he said kindly, “ you have gone 
home and started there again, and I hope you will 
come to school also, and start there.” 


314 


SHOULD HE TRUST HIM? 


A cloud swept over Bill’s big features. He 
hung his head and kicked at a snow bank with his 
boot. Then he said, “I don’t seem to like to. 
They will be down on me.” 

“But your teacher won’t. Sylvester Dixon 
won’t, and none of the big scholars that are worth 
noticing.” 

Bill’s face brightened, and his head began to lift 
like a pine bough that after a heavy winter storm 
loses part of its burden of snow. 

“ Then, William, you want to go on with your 
studies, you know. That is very important. You 
will come, won’t you ? ” 

“ I’ll — think of it.” 

Paul walked away. 

“I — I thank you just the same,” sang out the 
reluctant Bill. Paul turned, smiled and nodded 
his head. 

“ I’ll go, see if I don’t,” thought Bill. 

The next morning he was in his old place in 
school. 

“ Bill Potwin, I declare ! Same old sixpence ! ” 
wrote Sallie Ricker, in a rather contemptuous 
spirit, to one of the big girls, and the reply was in 
the same temper. Annie Alton made no com- 
ment. In a community where the public school is 
almost the only excitement during the day, Bill’s 
return to his studies occasioned some outside 
comment. 

“ I say, Mr. Endercut,” called out Levi Green, 


SHOULD HE TRUST HIM? 


315 


halting one morning at the post-office for the mail 
bag, and chancing to see the schoolmaster in the 
road. ^ 

“ Good morning, Mr. Green ! What is the 
matter ? ” 

“ That Bill Potwin has gone back to school, 
they tell me.” 

“ O, yes ! ” 

“Wall, now, it’s none of my business, but — 
but — look out ! ” 

" What for?” 

“ I say it as a friend, you know — never had a 
schoolmaster that I took more interest in — but 
you can’t learn an old dog new tricks.” 

“ What, the teacher ? ” 

“Ha, ha! Sharp! You had pickles for break- 
fast, I know. Samanthay’s a great hand on cow- 
cumbers. That makes me think ” — 

“ Oh ! but you warned me about Bill,” said 
Paul, knowing Levi’s fondness for yarn-spinning, 
and afraid of any divergency from the subject 
under discussion. 

“ Oh ! so I did ; but I must tell you ’bout Saman- 
thay some other time. Wall, I was a-goin’ to say, 
I hope Bill will behave hisself.” 

“ I hope so. I think so.” 

“ Wall, I dunno.” 

Here the driver played with the long lash of his 
whip, letting it fall gently at times on the back of 
one of his horses. 


316 


SHOULD HE TRUST HIM? 


“ I dunno — Whoa, there ! Keep still, I ax ye ! 
I didn’t want you to git up — I dunno! When 
yer school is a-doin* well, too bad to spile it” — 

“ But you don’t know anything ? ” 

“Oh! I knows nothin’. But there are the — 
Whoa, there, you old beast ! — there are the old 
tricks ” — 

“That may be, but I think he’s starting out 
anew and I shall trust him.” 

Here Levi, who considered himself a kind of 
advisory board for the minister, the lawyer, the 
doctor, and, in this case, the schoolmaster, said : 
“ Trust him ? I should only trust him out of 
sight when I had a chance to peek round the 
corner and see what he’s up to. Now mark my 
word — Whoa, there, you pizenest old brute ! You 
stir a man up dredfully ! — Mark my word ! Mr. 
Endercut, mark my word ! ” 

The mail bag had now been thrown at Levi. 
Depositing it in the boot of the stage, he shouted 
to his horses, “Git up! Don’t stand a-loafin’ 
here!” 

Off went the stage. Paul stepped into the 
office, and obtaining his mail, went to the school- 
house. He detested Levi Green’s nasal, gossipy 
talk. It apparently had no influence upon him 
any more than a rat’s run over a granite wall. 
The rat, though, did affect the granite this time. 
Paul kept saying to himself, “ Trust Bill Potwin ? 
Of course I will if I want to. It’s none of that 


SHOULD HE TRUST HIM? 


317 


Levi Green’s business. Why not trust him ? 
What encouragement is there for people to reform 
if nobody is going to trust them ? We must make 
a beginning of trusting reformed people some time ; 
and I am going to trust Bill Potwin, and I wish 
that rambling old fool of a stage driver would — 
stop ! ” 

Here Paul rammed a stick of hard maple down 
the iron throat of the stove as if he were putting 
a plug into that troublesome orifice, the mouth of 
the loquacious Levi Green. 

As the days passed by, the teacher had an excel- 
lent opportunity to test his confidence in Bill 
Potwin. The school was near its close. For the 
afternoon of the last day Paul had planned an 
“ exhibition ” by his scholars. The programme 
was not pretentious. It included a reading exer- 
cise by two of the six classes in various “readers,” 
a spelling match, questions in “ ’rithmetic,” as 
Miles Baker would have called it, “ speaking ” and 
a few “ compositions.” Sylvester Dixon and others 
among the older scholars determined that the pro- 
gramme should also comprehend something that 
was to be kept as a very mysterious secret from 
the master. The secret would cost money. The 
scholars must raise the money. 

“We will divide up the work of begging money 
for it. Will you, Annie,” said Sylvester, “beg of 
the scholars in your neighborhood ? ” 

“ O, yes ! ” said the judge’s daughter. 


818 


SHOULD HE TBUST HIM? 


“ And now up the road where Titus Potwin 
lives, who will go there ? ” asked Sylvester. 

“ Let Bill Potwin go and begin with his brother 
Titus,” suggested Annie. 

“ O, Annie Alton ! ” exclaimed Sallie Ricker. 
“You don’t mean to have Bill Potwin handle any 
of the school money ? ” 

“ Why not, Sallie ? Somebody has got to trust 
him with money.” 

“ But, Annie Alton,” said Sallie, “ I don’t mean 
to have him handle any of my money, and my 
folks won’t want' him to.” 

A discussion here opened, in which the two sides 
earnestly contended. Sylvester was inclined to 
take Bill’s part, and his influence effected a kind 
of compromise. It was decided that Bill should 
be invited to beg at the homes of six of the scholars 
on his road, but only six. 

“ And he mustn’t touch any more of the school 
money afterwards. We will keep that from him,” 
insisted Sallie Ricker. 

“ Oh ! he won’t care to touch it,” said Annie ; 
“ and I don’t think he will get much from his road 
to handle. Only six families, and some won’t give 
a cent.” 

To the surprise, though, of the other collectors, 
Bill’s receipts were soon noised about as exceeding 
three dollars. Then to the disgust of everybody 
he reported one morning at school that he had lost 
the money ! 


SHOULD HE TRUST HIM? 


819 


Oh ! what a tempest set in ! 

“I — I — I’ll try — to get it somehow,” said 
the down-fallen Bill, trying to raise a little fence 
before the rising wind, like a blade of grass before 
a tornado! 

“ There ! ” wrote Sallie Ricker to Annie Alton. 
“ I told you so ! He stole it, and I know it. The 
‘ secret ’ on the programme is all blocked. Nothing 
can be relied on if you trust that Bill.” 

Bill reported the loss in the morning, and by 
night the disaster was known all over town, save 
by the master, who knew nothing of this secret 
money-raising. 

“ Say, Mr. Endercut, I told ye so ! ” sang out a 
sharp voice to the schoolmaster at the post-office 
the next morning. “ What did I tell ye about 
Bill Potwin? He will bear watchin’. I tell ye 
what you want in that school of you’n. D’ye see 
my whip? Now that is a wonderful whip. It 
can go all over my horses, all about ’em, all round 
’em, and tech ’em in the right place every time, 
every time, and never fail, never ! Now it’s a 
wonderful whip.” 

“I guess it’s the man more than the whip,” said 
Paul. 

“You think so, Mr. Endercut?” 

“You ought to get a patent on that whip, or 
else on the man using it.” 

“ Couldn’t patent the whip ; might try for the 
patent on the man. No ; the man don’t need a 


820 


SHOULD HE TRUST HIM? 


patent to protect him. He can’t be imitated. I 
know of nary a body like him.” 

“ No ; you are protected.” 

“I cal’late I am.” 

“ Well, good morning, sir.” 

“ Oh ! don’t you want my whip up to the school- 
house ? Try it on Bill Potwin, and ” — 

“ Bring it up, and come to my school as one of 
my scholars, and I’ll try it on you ! ” roared Paul. 

He refused to stop longer, and went off thor- 
oughly disgusted with Levi. 

“ Bless me ! I’ve got him mad,” muttered Levi. 

Arriving at the schoolhouse, Paul stepped into 
the entry, and quickly heard voices outside. 

“ I’m — I’m dreadful sorry, Annie.” 

“ Oh ! I think it will turn up, Bill. You mislaid 
it somewhere. You know things will do that. It 
seems sometimes as if they must have legs, and 
crawl off.” 

Bill said not a word, but smiled and looked in- 
tensely grateful. He knew what people would 
say. He had already been roused into wrath that 
morning, by a cry from some hidden quarter as he 
passed a house, “ Thief ! ” 

“ Ah! ” thought the master in the entry, “ some- 
thing has happened. I wondered what Levi was 
hailing me for. Bill has lost something and can’t 
find it, and Annie wants to let him know she 
trusts him. I declare I — I — like that girl.” 

He was right in his theories. Annie Alton had 


SHOULD HE TRUST HIM? 


821 


come to school at an earlier hour than usual ex- 
pressly to tell Bill Potwin that she thought the 
missing money would be found, and inferentially 
that she trusted him and did not believe he was a 
thief. 

But what had Bill lost? What, wondered the 
master, was this mysterious something? He felt 
it sensibly, though he was puzzled to state it, that 
a big, mysterious affair was in everybody’s mouth, 
but it eluded his knowledge as much as a toy- 
balloon that on a windy day has escaped from a 
boy’s hands, and provokingly sails just above his 
head. Samantha’s air also mystified him. 

“ Too bad, Mr. Rendercut ! ” 

“ What about? ” 

“ Bill Potwin. Now he behaved like an angel 
while here takin’ care of Sammy.” The old lady’s 
under lip quivered. “ They’re talkin’ hard about 
Bill, Mr. Rendercut.” 

“ What does it all mean ? I can’t get hold of it. 
Bill has lost something, and they’re whispering it is 
not a loss, but a theft,” thought Paul. 

“ Don’t you think it’s dreadful hard when a per- 
son once gits a bad name to git rid of it? Now if 
you git a good name, people do sort of hate to 
give that up, but once lose it, and it’s awful hard, 
then, to git it back. People that git down on ye, 
find it dredful hard to let up. They peck at you 
like a flock of hens on the one that’s begun to lose 
its feathers.” 


322 


SHOULD HE TEUST HIM? 


“Well, what has Bill lost? ” 

“ Ah, Mr. Rendercut, I daresn’t tell ye. If I 
should give you a hint, jest the tinniest mite of a 
hint, they’d be down on me too.” 

“ That’s funny ! ” thought the master. “ People 
pecking at Samantha for telling me what Bill has 
lost!” 

He was more and more like the baffled boy try- 
ing on a windy day to catch his runaway balloon. 
He could have guessed the secret if he had ever 
gone through an “ exhibition.” “ Well, I shall trust 
Bill. I’ll stand by him,” resolved the master. 

At school in connection with a reading lesson 
that discussed the duty of compassion, he took 
occasion to make a statement in a general way : 
“ There is plenty of room, scholars, for the exercise 
of compassion. People are sometimes very cruel 
toward one another, willing to believe of one 
another hard things. Have charity and be merci- 
ful until you know there is only room for justice.” 

The older scholars looked up. The occupants 
of the seats for “ the big girls ” asked one another 
questions with their eyes. 

“ He means Bill Potwin,” wrote Annie Alton on 
a slip of paper and passed it to Sallie Ricker. 

The schoolmaster was now continuing : “ The 
world is too ready to crowd folks down. May you 
insist on fair play! You go to the side of the 
weaker object that is unfairly treated, and don’t 
be afraid to stand by it. Next one. may read.” 


SHOULD HE TRUST HIM? 


323 


A smile played over Bill Pot win’s big, homely 
features. He, too, wrote on his slate : “He won’t 
be down on a feller. He goes for fair play. He 
said, go to the side of — of — what is weak, and 
don’t be afraid to stand by it.” 

Another day passed, and Bill Potwin’s money 
seemed to have hopelessly disappeared. He was 
in the shadow of a disgrace steadily darkening. 
Almost all suspected that the funds reported miss- 
ing were appropriated by Bill to his own benefit. 
Bill felt the shame. 

The master and Annie Alton and Sylvester 
Dixon had faith in him. That helped him. It 
was the noon intermission. Going past the end of 
the bridge that led to the world on the other side 
of the river, he heard a shouting. It came from 
the center of the bridge. Looking that way, he 
saw a crowd of vicious youths pelting with snow- 
balls a roughly dressed man clinging with one 
hand to a pack, and with the other hurling snow 
at his persecutors. 

“ He’s black ! ” thought Bill. 

He had once been in sympathy with the boys 
“ over the river ” who were a rough, noisy set, and 
Bill’s first impulse born of the old, rough days, 
was to rush ahead and join those tormentors on 
the bridge. 

“ I could take him in the rear ! ” he muttered. 
“ Fun, ha, ha ! ” 

Bill, though, had come under new influences. 


324 


SHOULD HE TRUST HIM? 


He suddenly seemed to be in the schoolhouse. He 
was repeating these words, “ He said, go to the 
side of — of — what is weak, and. don’t be afraid, to 
stand by it.” 

He looked a moment longer, saw the rabble 
pressing harder on the poor, colored martyr, and 
then shouted, “ Here goes ! ” 

“See that, Jedge!” said Miles Baker at the 
tavern door from which one could look across the 
bridge. 

“ Yes ; and that poor fellow will have his hands 
full, beset behind and before. I’ll stop that,” said 
Judge Alton. u I’ll send Bill home, and the rest 
of the puppies too.” 

u Jedge, wait a moment ! ” pleaded Miles. 
“ Don’t spile the fun ! ” 

“ 4 Spile’ the fun ! It’s no fun to that poor fellow. 
Bill Potwin ought to know better. I’ll stop that.” 

To the judge’s surprise, Bill Potwin proceeded 
to play the part of an ally to the stranger. He 
rushed up to the man, exclaiming, w Let’s drive 
’em ! ” 

“ Ho, ho, here’s Bill ! Give it to him, Bill ! ” the 
boys were shouting, supposing that their old com- 
rade-in-arms was on their side. But what was he 
doing ? Charging upon their ranks, the black man 
eagerly following. One soul may look weak, but 
there is a front of great power to two. Add 
a righteous cause, and two may make twenty 
fly. The}’' flew that time. They knew that Bill 


SHOULD HE TRUST HIM? 


325 


was a hard hitter and a tenacious fighter. He was 
larger than the majority, and then, behind him was 
that black face, the eyes rolling, the white teeth 
projecting and set in a grim defiance ! The man 
had thrown his pack aside, and was giving both 
his big, muscular arms to the onset. 

“ Hur-ror ! ” cried Bill. 

“ Booh — booh — booh ! ” roared the big Son of 
Ham. It was the charge irresistible, invincible, 
overwhelming. 

Judge Alton who was on the bridge saw the 
other-side boys scattering like the leaves on the 
big elms before an October gale. He was so much 
interested in the fight and in the victory, that re- 
turning to the side of Miles Baker, he slowly 
backed all the way, keeping his eyes on the rout 
in progress. 

“ Must see the end of that, if folks do think it 
is like a big boy,” murmured the judge. “ How 
that Bill drives them ! ” 

Miles Baker wanted to talk, but the judge 
seemed to be occupied with his thoughts. 

“ Well done, Jedge, if I do say it! I’m not an 
Abolitionist, you know, but I’m glad that feller has 
licked.” 

The judge was silent. 

“ Bill chases ’em like sheep, Jedge.” 

The judge said nothing. Soon, though, he 
ejaculated, “ There’s Annie ! ” and left the grocery. 

“ Dredful unsocial, seems to me ! ” soliloquized 


326 


SHOULD HE TRUST HIM? 


Miles. “ Bein’ an Abolitionist, I thought he’d say 
suthin.” 

At school, Annie reported to her mates a mes- 
sage from the judge. 

“Father says he will be responsible for the 
money that Bill lost. If it doesn’t turn up, he 
will supply it. He thinks Bill should be en- 
couraged.” 

Indeed! Judge Alton taking sides with Bill 
Potwin ! That gave a different front to Bill’s case. 
Then Annie told about the battle on the bridge, 
“ and father says,” continued Annie, “ that a boy 
showing those good feelings, has something noble 
aboard his character ” — 

“ So do I say it ! ” said Sylvester Dixon, a broad, 
philanthropic smile spreading over his features. 

“Yes, yes ! ” said others. 

“Well!” cried Sallie Ricker, “ we will wait and 
see what there is in the future.” 

“ But who was the black man ? ” asked Sylvester. 

“ I couldn’t see,” replied Annie. “ He was off 
so far when I got along, but if I couldn’t tell his 
features, I could see the rabble running before him. 
I left father looking at the rout.” 

The judge saw the close of this interesting bat- 
tle and then went into the tavern. 

Peter, from the Alton place, soon appeared in 
the Alton sleigh and called at the tavern, and the 
judge departed for home. 

“ There’s that colored man ! ” exclaimed the 


SHOULD HE TRUST HIM? 


827 


judge, not detailing to Peter the late bridge fight, 
only calling attention to the ex-champion. The 
latter was leisurely strolling along, carelessly car- 
rying the pack slung over his back, and softly 
whistling. Peter stared at him hard as the sleigh 
passed him. 

“ Bress us ! ” ejaculated Peter, then giving a 
mighty shout to the horses, “ Whoa ! ” 

Throwing down the reins, without a word of ex- 
planation he bounded, to the judge’s astonishment, 
out of the sleigh, and rushed up to the ebony 
whistler. 

“ Ef dis yer ain’t Ben, den ” — Peter was saying. 

“ Bress us, honey, whew-ew ! Halloo, Pete ! ” 
cried the other, almost hitting Judge Alton as he 
threw his bundle away. 

The two sable friends sprang at each other. 
As they embraced, in the energy of their greeting 
they almost knocked each other over. They 
shook hands. They hugged. They let go their 
embrace. They stood off and looked at each 
other. They danced. They capered in the 
snow. They began again, shaking hands, laugh- 
ing, and shouting, and hugging. They did not 
stop until the astonished judge alighted from his 
chariot and came forward to welcome poor Slave 
Ben as a man and a brother. 

Ben then took a seat with Peter, and the Alton 
team again rushed homeward. 

“ You did well on the bridge. You and that 


828 


SHOULD HE TRUST HIM? 


boy gave the enemy a great scare, Ben,” observed 
the judge. 

44 Dat boy gib me a heap ob help,” replied Ben, 
showing all his teeth in a grateful smile. 44 I’ll 
hunt dat boy up and tank him.” He speedily 
hunted 44 dat boy up.” 

The next morning, before school, Paul’s pupils 
were clustered about a sulky stove, trying to warm 
it up to its duty, when a pound rather than a knock 
was heard at the door. Sylvester opened it, and a 
dark face and two searching eyes were thrust 
forward. 

44 Dat boy in here ? ” asked Ben. 44 He helped 
me on de bridge.” 

44 He wants you, Bill,” said Sylvester. 

The ally of Ben came forward. 

44 Shut the door, stranger ! ” called out a voice. 
44 It’s cold.” 

44 Beg — beg pardon,” said Ben, bowing, and at 
the same time removing his old hat. 

44 You want me ? ” asked Bill. 

44 See here, honey ! ” said Ben mysteriously. 
44 Dis yer way ! ” 

He hustled Bill out into an entry corner, and then 
thrust a huge hand down into his old, well-worn 
side pocket. Pulling out a paper parcel, he said : 
44 Dey tole me down at de jedge’s, yer wanted some 
money. I foun’ dis yer pocket-book ; dunno what 
dar be in it ; dunno nuffin ’bout it, but I foun’ it 
an’ yer welcome to it.” 


SHOULD HE TRUST HIM? 


329 


“ Thank ye,” said Bill ; “ but it may belong to 
an owner that will turn up and want it.” 

“ What, honey, am dat ? ” 

Ben had not taken that into consideration. He 
scratched his head as if to let light in upon the 
subject of his uncertain title to the property. Did 
he not own this pocket-book that he had found in 
an out-of-the-way nook in the bridge ? A look of 
bewilderment and disappointment gave a darker 
shade to his face. 

But why on the other hand did Bill’s face 
brighten? “ Hur-ror, hur-ror! ” he was shouting, 
while flourishing th£ pocket-book. Then he 
danced back to the group around the stove. 

“ Hur-ror, hur-ror ! ” he continued to cry. 

“ Dat chile gone crazy! ” murmured Ben, scratch- 
ing his head now in his perplexity upon the sub- 
ject of Bill’s sanity. 

“ My old pocket-book ! ” cried Bill. “ Missed it 
one day when I had to cross the bridge. Money 
all here, too ! ” 

“ That so ? ” asked Sylvester. “ Hurrah then, 
all hands ! ” 

Not one but rejoiced with Bill over the finding 
of funds designed to make ready that “secret” 
allotted to exhibition day. 

Ben went away from the schoolhouse grinning. 
Then he was heard jubilantly whistling. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


A HOLE IN THE ICE. 

6i 'X7^0U goin’ out, Mr. Rendercut, this even- 
-1- in’ ? ” asked Samantha. 

“ I suppose I must. I want to see Miles Baker,” 
replied Paul. He had not forgotten that such a 
person as “ F. Gaines ” was supposed to be in 
town and might need Paul’s help, and the latter 
had persistently tried to get upon and follow the 
mysterious being’s tracks. He had set others to 
hunting. One of the kindly hounds thus em- 
ployed was Miles Baker, and Paul wished to hear 
from him. 

“Hadn’t you better stay in, Mr. Rendercut? 
Them air-holes I keep a-thinkin’ of.” 

“ What air-holes, Mrs. Hanscom ? In the ice ? ” 

“ Yes, the river ice ; and some not so fur from 
the place where people cross the ice. They say 
they’re wuss than usual ; a kind of monster 
a-breathin’ out, I call ’em. I feel real skittish. I 
tell Simon if he will stay in the house evenin’s 
330 


A HOLE IN THE ICE. 


331 


until they shut their mouths, I shall be thankful. 
Safest place at your own fireside, I tell him.” 

“ O, Mrs. Hanscom ! you’re good and thought- 
ful as a mother. I won’t go near them. I won’t 
go near the river bank if I can help it when I go 
down street, but keep on this side of the street — 
there ! ” 

“ Do be keerful,” said Samantha, wiping secretly 
her eyes. She thought of the sailor boy that never 
came back, of Sammy, too, and felt that she could 
not let the schoolmaster take any risks. 

When Paul entered the store of Miles Baker, 
the latter promptly spied the schoolmaster, and 
saluted him with a noisy “ Good evenin’ ! ” 

Then he leaned over his counter to address the 
teacher. It was the same Miles with the old 
energetic vitality, but he was suppressing it now — 
taming it to the work of a whispered, confidential 
communication to the master of the district school. 

“ For some time you’ve wanted me, you know, 
to inquire if I knew of one F. Gaines. I have 
been a-doin’ it. Great place, this, to find out 
news ! ” 

Here Miles looked around as if some one might 
hear a state secret. 

“ Bless you ! I’ve got wires up — speakin’ in a 
figger — to all parts of the town. They run into 
all neighborhoods. Give me an order to fetch any 
news, and I could hand it over to you, weighed, 
tied up — in brown paper or white jest as you 


832 


A HOLE IN THE ICE. 


please — and dee-livered within twenty-four hours. 
And ‘F. Gaines’? Well, he ain’t in town, from 
Bison Hill in the nor’west to Lone Rock in the 
sou’west. Gone ! There fur ye ! ” 

“ He has gone ? That is the conclusion I came 
to, Mr. Baker. I have been inquiring in every 
direction, but could not hear of him. Miss Green 
did not know ; she ” — 

“ Miss Green ! ” said Miles in disgust. “ She 
ain’t a circumstance to this place — pshaw ! Post- 
office ought to have been here. She has the name, 
but virtooally I am the man. Goods are delivered 
here. Of course she couldn’t tell. What can she 
tell ? What does she know ? Don’t know nothin’. 
Goods are delivered here. No F. Gaines ain’t here ; 
cleared out of town, gone — somewhar. Gin 
fifty dollars if his old shoes or his new ones can be 
found in town anywhar to-night.” 

“ I thought you could tell.” 

“ Of course I could. But don’t you put your 
pertaters in thar.” Here Miles pointed toward 
that worthless, despised place, the post-office, 
tenanted by a female Green or green female. “ If 
you want ’em to sprout quick, jest plant them 
here. I’ll warrant ye there’ll be a sproutin’.” 

“This is the place, I see. Thank you, Mr. 
Baker.” 

Miles had felt complimented because asked to 
make this inquiry. It was an acknowledgment 
of his power, that here he ruled, a king on his 


A HOLE IN THE ICE. 


833 


throne, though the throne might be only lard pails, 
tubs and cheese boxes, and from this seat of power 
went lines of imperial influence to every part of 
the town. 

44 That is it,” he inwardly declared in the pres- 
ence of Paul. 44 1 know a thing or two. I’m mon- 
arch of all I ” — he could not get the other word, 
and he changed the subject of his thoughts. 

44 Ahem ! ” he now exclaimed. 44 How’ is that 
new lib’ry you spoke to me about ? ” 

Among the many 44 notions ” and 44 new idees ” 
with whose possession the people credited Paul, 
was that of a library for the school. 

44 One is needed,” he declared, 44 but how to get 
one I am puzzled. Ah ! I have it. I will get up 
a school library club.” 

Having made up his mind in the matter, he con- 
sulted Miles, and subsequently made Amanda 
an assistant in its care. 

The vain Miles ! . He did so like to be consulted, 
though consultation meant only a request for 
approbation, and then as Miles put it to himself, 
44 to have my Sis as a ’sistant librarian!” Out- 
wardly he declared it 44 a good* thing to have a 
lib’ry.” 

Paul went forward in his plans. He invited as 
many scholars as would do so, to give fifteen 
cents a week. 

44 You may have the privilege,” he told them, 
44 of paying more if you wish.” 


334 


A HOLE IN THE ICE. 


With the ingatherings from this club, Paul was 
able to buy a number of desirable books, and began 
at once to circulate them inside the club. Each 
family subscribing could have the first reading of 
these books, retaining a book one week, and then 
passing it to the next in a previously arranged 
list. When the end of this circle had been 
reached, the books became the property of the 
school, and any one could have the privilege of a 
perusal. 

Paul requested Sylvester Dixon to take charge 
of the books, and as there is much in a name, he 
entitled Sylvester the “curator” of the library. 
He appointed Amanda “ assistant curator.” 

“ Assistant bother ” was Sylvester’s name for 
her, as she was a flighty helper. 

Sylvester, though, readily appreciated Paul’s 
wish to please Miles and enlist his co-operation, and 
he silently, delicately made no opposition, cheer- 
fully doing his own work and the assistant’s also. 

How the office and title given to his “ Sis ” did 
tickle the pride of Miles ! He went out into the 
barn, and on a partition soon appeared Amanda’s 
title very thickly whitewashed in big letters. 

“ Halloo ! ” he cried, confronting “ Old Brick ” 
the family horse, and “ Puck ” the pony, when the 
title had dried. “ What do you think of that ’ere ? 
It jest knocks higher than a kite anything ever 
’tempted in this villij.” Subsequently, Amanda 
happened to be in the barn, and to her astonish- 


A HOLE IN THE ICE. 


335 


ment saw these words on the above partition, “ A. 
Baker, assistent Qrater.” 

She ran into the kitchen, plunged the family 
mop into a pail of hot water, and in another min- 
ute Old Brick and Puck saw only rills of vanity 
running down that partition opposite their stalls. 

“ I do believe my poor father is-s los-sing his 
senses-s-s ! ” she declared. 

Amanda, though, was as fond of the title thus 
washed out, as her father was delighted with wash- 
ing it in. If in large black type it had appeared 
in her father’s favorite paper, “The Champion,” 
she would have been elated. 

It was the school library that Miles inquired 
about, the evening Paul interviewed him about F. 
Gaines. 

“ It is doing well, sir,” replied Paul. “ I would 
like to get a case for it, so as to have a place in 
the schoolhouse for the safe keeping of the books. 
I have been packing them in a soap box you kindly 
gave me.” 

“ Ahem-m ! ” said Miles vigorously. “ I know, 
I know. That, though, that, though — ahem-m — 
hardly fills — the — the bill. W e want a leetle 
more style than that, at least in this villij where 
we have so many people — of — of — that is — 
who know what is what. See here ! you know 
Sprought the jiner, he is on t’other side of the 
river. Tell him to make what you want — and — 
I’ll pay for it.” 


386 


A HOLE IN THE ICE. 


Here Miles looked intently at Paul as if he 
would say, “ What do you think of that, and what 
will the world think of that splendid gift ? ” 

“ You are very kind, sir. That is quite an offer, 
and I accept it with many thanks. Where did 
you say I could find Sprought ? ” 

“ Ah — oh ! here is the very chap you want. 
Jest in time, Sylvester himself, one of the officers 
of your society. I say, Sylvester! ” 

It was Sylvester Dixon who had entered the 
store. 

“ What, sir ? ” replied Sylvester. 

“You — you’ll jest show the teacher where 
Sprought the jiner lives on t’other side of the 
river ? Thought you might be goin’ home that 
way.” 

“ O, yes ! certainly I will show him.” 

Teacher and scholar went over the bridge 
together. 

“ I was speaking, Sylvester,” remarked Paul, 
“ with Mr. Baker about that person, F. Gaines, the 
one I mentioned to you. Have you heard anything 
anywhere ? ” 

“ Yes ; I have found out considerable, though he 
has gone out of town now ; but I seem to think he 
may be back any day. He was boarding last at 
the hotel on the south side. Queer how things 
turn out in this world! There has been a man 
out skating on the river, and he would stop at our 
house when thirsty, and he seemed to think our 


A HOLE IN THE ICE. 


837 


well of water the best he ever drank of. He was 
always dressed nicely. He liked to appear in a 
handsome green coat, and we got to calling him 
4 Mr. Green.’ 4 There’s Mr. Green going up the 
river ’ we would say, or 4 down the river,’ as he 
might be skating in either direction. I don’t know 
as we should have found out anything about the 
man, but one day Pomona was at our house. 
That was after she left the lumber camp and be- 
gan to be better. Mother, being an old friend of 
the judge’s and pitying her, invited her over one 
day to the house. 

44 While at the window, mother happened to look 
out, and said, 4 There’s Mr. Green ! He has just 
gone to our well to drink. So he is out skating 
to-day?’ That set Pomona to looking, and she 
cried, 4 Why, that’s the man who used to come 
to the lumber camp, and he is the very one I saw 
at massa’s down South.’ She said it in her way, 
of course. That interested us all the more in Mr. 
Green because Pomona had seen him down South. 
Well, the next time mother saw Pomona, it was 
up in the north village somewhere, and mother 
said: 4 How is Mr. Green, Pomona? Have you 
seen him ? ’ 4 Why, honey,’ said Pomona, 4 his 

name is Gaines, and he’s in lub wid somebody at 
de jedge’s ’ — said it in her way, you know ; and 
she said, 4 The jedge don’t seem to be easy, ’cos — 
’cos,’ she said, 4 he will drink a heap.’ Pomona 
knew nothing more, but it let in a good deal of 


338 


A HOLE IN THE ICE. 


light, and I could understand why the judge was so 
agitated at the temperance meeting and went out. 
I saw the stranger sign, and I said to myself , 4 That’s 
that Green.’ He was at the south side tavern a 
day or two before he went away, but he was not 
long enough there to get or send any mail, and 
that is the reason why you couldn’t track him at 
the post-office on the south side ; and you went to 
the north side too, I think ? ” 

44 Yes; I asked again and again. His mail must 
have gone to some other office in town. He is 
interested in somebody at the judge’s, you say ? ” 

“I — didn’t say it, but Pomona did.” 

“ Why, who is there at the judge’s ? ” asked the 
astonished master, who could think only of Annie. 

44 I don’t know,” said his pupil. 44 Annie is the 
only one at home, her sister being away attending 
school.” 

“ It might be somebody visiting there,” sug- 
gested Paul. 

44 Yes,” assented Sylvester. 

But was it probably a visitor ? If not, who was 
the 44 somebody ” that Frank Gaines was in- 
terested in ? 

44 Can it be Annie?” reflected the master, drop- 
ping into a very interesting meditation which 
Sylvester noticed, but thoughtfully refused to in- 
terrupt. 44 But there is nobody else, is there ? No 
one is visiting there, for Annie yesterday said they 
had no company. Why, she is only sixteen now ; 


A HOLE IN THE ICE. 


389 


was fifteen when school began. Ridiculous ! But 
there, didn’t I see her with that unknown at the 
entertainment, and didn’t he look like the man up- 
set that I found ? How that mystery multiplies ! 
Why didn’t I stop F. Gaines and look into his face 
the night he signed the pledge? Here he has 
been in the neighborhood all this time, a-dodging 
me, and that witch of an Annie Alton, she has 
been keeping up the mystery ! ” 

If Paul could have seen the change in Annie 
Alton’s mood the day she and Patty Weeks at the 
post-office heard Sophia Green’s remark to Paul’s 
messenger that she knew nothing about one Frank 
Gaines, the master’s perplexity would have re- 
ceived another twist and been thrown into a new 
tangle. His mood would have deepened, and his 
jealousy been freshly inflamed. 

Jealous ? He did not call it by that adjective. 
What did he care for Annie Alton ? It was the 
deception Alcestis had practiced that tormented 
him. Lately, it is true, her behavior in school had 
wonderfully improved. Had it not been because 
he was soon going away ? All her kind words, sym- 
pathetic glances, various favors like invitations to 
society or church gatherings, had been as a wel- 
come shower on withering herbage. And now to 
think that all this time Alcestis was probably “ the 
somebody at the judge’s ” magnetizing 44 F. Gaines,” 
the strange, the weird, t\ie spectral ! 

Paul was furious — in feeling. Not that he 


340 


A HOLE IN THE ICE. 


cared for the girl, he told himself, but he did care 
for truth. He cared, too, for that blighted being 
— Judge Alton. Not at all was Paul personally 
interested in gentle tones and confiding looks and 
numerous, soft-handed little attentions. 

He was proof against all these, he asserted. 
But to think any one of his scholars should not be 
the crystal truth, that any one should be executing 
a double part ! That stung him. What did they 
do to witches ? Hang them, did they not ? Is 
there not an old hill in Salem, Mass., uncanny 
even to-day, because eighteen souls were there set 
to swinging like pendulums, with strokes so few 
and short and hopeless ? Paul did not believe, 
though, in Jack Ketch. Hanging was savagery. 
Sometimes they burned witches. Joan of Arc was 
smothered in a robe of flame. Paul did not be- 
lieve in burning. It was only the Devil with an- 
other face. No ; he would not have inflicted the 
pain of a single pinch on any female soul who 
wanted to ride on a broomstick in the white moon- 
light. But why could not Annie Alton, who had 
been Alcestis one day, a scholar the next Monday, 
then a magician ensnaring Frank Gaines, be a sim- 
ple, straight-going girl? Not for her did Paul 
care, only for the right of the matter. And as for 
F. Gaines, Will Gaines’s brother, Paul as a philan- 
thropist had only good wishes. As a philanthropist, 
he might even surrender Annie Alton to him. As 
a teacher, Paul had a duty to discharge toward his 


A HOLE IN THE ICE. 


341 


scholar. It might be necessary to shield her from 
this F. G. the sincerity of whose reform had not been 
tested. As a teacher, to protect a scholar it might 
be necessary to hand over the “ ristercrat,” F. G., to 
that home magnate and discipliner of upstarts — T. 
Potwin. But Paul’s thoughts were interrupted. 

“ There he is ! ” suddenly said a voice. 

“ Who ? ” asked Paul, calling in his wondering 
thoughts. 

“ Why, Gaines. Don’t you see him going into 
that store ? ” asked Sylvester. 

“ Where, where? Miles Baker must give me 
fifty dollars if that is 4 F. Gaines.’ Whose store is 
it ? ” he asked eagerly. 

“ Carberry Boyd’s ; and that may explain why it 
is people say the judge does not have fullest faith 
in Mr. Gaines’ reform.” 

“ I should say the judge was right. It is his 
nature to trust people.” 

There was a window in the door of the store 
which had just been entered. The light from 
lamps within shone through this window upon 
the face of the man entering. 

“ I saw his face. That was F. Gaines,” asserted 
Sylvester. 

“Don’t like to see him going in there.” The 
possible motive of this step was here discussed. 

“ He may not stop. They say — well, two 
things are said, that Carberry does and does not 
sell liquor. The temperance revival had some 


342 


A HOLE IN THE ICE. 


effect upon him,” $aid Sylvester. “They threat- 
ened to prosecute him, and he said he would stop.” 

“ If Gaines shouldn’t come out, I’ll step in. I’ll 
get him ” — Paul was saying. He wanted so 
much to get hold of the man. 

Here the door opened, and there was an exit. 

“ That is Gaines,” whispered Sjdvester. 

The master and his pupil were halting in and 
were concealed by the black shadow of the build- 
ing in a moonlight raining vividly out of the sky. 
Paul was stepping forward to improve his oppor- 
tunity and see and speak to Gaines, when Sylves- 
ter’s touch detained him. 

“ Stop a minute, Mr. Endicott ; somebody is 
coming. He has Judge Alton’s form.” 

The two men in the road approached, and Paul 
could hear Judge Alton’s voice. 

“ Don’t like the looks of this, Mr. Gaines,” Paul 
heard the judge say, in very positive tones. 

“You don’t have confidence in me, Judere 
Alton.” 

“ Carberry Boyd’s is a place you can’t have con- 
fidence in.” 

“ I went in only to inquire ” — 

The voices became indistinct, for the two men 
were moving away. 

“Let’s follow,” said Paul; “I must get hold 
of Gaines to-night. When the judge leaves him 
I’ll take him up.” 

Into the white, snowy road Paul and Sylvester 


A HOLE IN THE ICE. 


843 


promptly moved, allowing the two figures to keep 
ahead but a short distance. Soon the latter 
turned away from the road and took a lane lead- 
ing down to the river. 

“ They are going across the ice, Sylvester, and 
I think I will follow. I will not go to Sprought’s 
to-night. I want to see Gaines now, and will 
follow him.” 

“ I would go with you, but I have an errand at 
one of the stores.” 

“ All right ; I will follow them. Good night,” 
said Paul, speaking hurriedly, and almost running 
in his fear that the two dark figures ahead might 
get out of sight. They did vanish, for the lane 
soon wound about the corner of a barn. When 
Paul reached this corner, he could there see the 
level field of river ice, and beyond that were 
the lights of the north village shining with a 
feeble glimmer in the lustrous moonlight. The 
two men had separated. One was off upon the 
river ; the other was quite near Paul, walking 
toward him. 

“ The first one off on the ice is Judge Alton,” 
reasoned Paul, “ and he is going home.” 

A very slight matter sent Judge Alton home by 
the river path. Little things in this world are 
continually making and unmaking us. No one 
can tell the issue of the smallest act. The atom 
of dust rolled up by a teamster’s wagon wheels in 
a mountain road to-day, may be in the avalanche 


344 


A HOLE IN THE ICE. 


burying him the next time he goes that way. It 
is this thought of possibilities in our trivial acts, 
which gives to the dullest drapery of human action 
a fringe of romantic interest. What turned Judge 
Alton into the river path rather than back over the 
bridge ? The thought that the kitchen might need 
very soon that evening two packages of groceries 
in his pocket. 

Paul had said the man on the ice was Judge 
Alton. “ The other man,” he said, “is Frank 
Gaines, and I will stop him and tell him who I 
am.” 

That was the scene one moment, the white ex- 
panse of the frozen river, a dark, solitary figure 
upon it, and this second figure so near Paul that 
he could see the stranger’s arms leisurely swinging 
as he walked, and then Paul heard him coughing. 
The next moment a sharp cry cut the air, 
“ Hel-p-p ! ” 

The scene in every particular seemed to change. 
The figure near Paul turned and rapidly ran 
toward the river, his arms going like the fans of a 
windmill. The surface of the river was vacant. 
The lustrous light upon it seemed to pale. In 
the midst of shadows, Paul was now rushing 
riverward. 

“ Dear me ! the judge has got into one of 
Samantha’s air-holes. Just thought of it, and I said 
I would not go near them. Got to go now ; can’t 
help it. Must go.” 


A HOLE IN THE ICE. 


345 


“ Help-p-p ! ” came the appeal to the school- 
master and everybody else in the neighborhood. 
Paul thought of Sylvester. Without a halt, Paul 
turned his face round toward the road and shouted, 
“ Sylvester ! ” 

Then he yelled furiously, “ Syl-ves-ter ! Come ! 
Help-p-p ! Come — every-body ! ” 

The next moment Paul was pitching headlong. 
His foot had caught in the frozen impress of a 
horse’s hoof, for he was trying to do two things at 
once — summon the neighborhood and run along a 
rough way. He rose, and ran again harder than 
ever. 

“If I could see a fence rail!” he murmured. 
He could only see stone walls dividing the pure, 
alabaster-like snow. 

Upon the river ice he saw somebody stretched 
out reaching his arms toward an object making 
melancholy splashes in a pool of water. 

“ Don’t come any nearer ! ” the rescuer warned 
Paul. To the judge he said : “ I have got you. 
Don’t worry. We will have you out directly. 
Here, please ! ” This last to Paul. 

“ What can I do ? ” asked Paul. 

“ Take hold of my legs,” Paul was told. “ Pull 
while I work myself back. Look — out ! D-d-don’ t 
come any nearer ! ” 

Paul tugged at those legs, but how relieved he 
was when he caught sight of a second windmill 
rushing over the ice, and the swinging arms and 


846 


A HOLE IN THE ICE. 


long strides resolved themselves into Sylvester 
Dixon rapidly coming to the rescue. 

“ Sylvester, bear a hand ! ” ordered Master 
Endicott, as if in school. “ Take hold of that leg. 
Say when you are ready, Mr. Gaines. All to- 
gether now ! ” 

“ One minute,” suggested Frank Gaines. “ Let 
me get a firmer hold. While I grip and work 
back, pull — now ! ” 

“All together ! Now ! ” ordered Paul. 

“All together ! Now ! ” echoed Sylvester. 

“ Don’t be afraid. My legs are firm and will 

hold. Now ! Now ! ” urged Frank Gaines. 

“ I will help all I can, gentlemen,” promised the 
willing but helpless judge, squirming in his chilly 
pool. And slowly, slowly, back out of the mouth 
of Samantha’s dragon that here had a breathing- 

hole, out of an icy bath, out of this pit of death 
and a grave roomier than any in the cemetery, 
came the man who had doubted the sincerity of 
Frank Gaines’ reform. 

“ Thank God ! ” devoutly declared the drenched 
Judge Alton, the moment he was on his feet ; 
“and, gentlemen, F-Frank and t-the rest of you, I 
— I owe you more t-than I — I can express.” 

“ That is all right, Judge Alton,” responded 
Frank for the group, talking in a business-like 
tone. “ Now I will run ahead and see, Judge, that 
dry clothes are ready for you at the house, if these 
gentlemen will help you home.” 


A HOLE IN THE ICE. 


34T 


“ Oh ! oh ! oh ! I can walk alone. I — I will 
not trouble you, g-gentlemen,” said the judge. 

“ It will be a pleasure,” said Paul, gripping the 
judge’s left arm. 

“ Yes,” insisted Sylvester, taking the other arm. 

“ What ! this you, Mr. Endicott, and S-Sylvester 
too?” said the judge. “I — I am profoundly in- 
debted to you.” 

The judge was dripping badly as any seal that 
crawls out of the water, but he was hearty, 
courteous and dignified as ever. 

Paul remarked that he did not know there were 
any holes in the ice just there. 

“ And — I — I didn’t,” observed the shivering 
judge, “ or I shouldn’t have gone near them, b-but 
I left the p-path and thinking I would m-make a 
quick walk to m-my house, struck off t-to the 
right — the wrong way it p-proved — and it was 
t-tbin ice I reached. A bridge went over here 
once, t-the old people say, and the old stone piers 
are p-pretty near the s-surface, and sometimes it 
d-does not f-freeze so solid above them.” 

The judge’s clothes were stiffening in the cold. 
His teeth were chattering. Paul kindly refrained 
from the asking of questions, and with Sylvester 
quickly assisted Judge Alton home. 

“ I would like to see Frank Gaines,” Paul re- 
marked to Sylvester as they turned from the door 
that they thoughtfully in the prevailing confusion 
had declined to enter. 


348 


A HOLE IN THE ICE. 


“Things turn out queerly in this world, Mr. 
Endicott. You have found Frank Gaines at last.” 

“ Yes ; found, and found him out. He conducted 
himself nobly. I want to meet him personalty, but 
I just heard them say at the judge’s, that Gaines 
had gone back. That means over the river, and I 
will cross the ice with you and may overtake 
him. Let’s hurry.” 

All in vain. 

“F. Gaines” had vanished as completely as one 
of the echoes that the winds brought to the pines by 
the river banks and then wafted away. Paul had for 
nothing his long walk back over the river, through 
the south village, and then over the bridge to the 
Hanscoms’. He was in a mood very different from 
that of the previous hour. The still moonlight 
was on the land. Crossing the bridge, he stopped 
and looked off on this world of peace and beauty. 
Its calm was in his soul. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


A RACE. 

4 4 X MUST have one more skate before leaving 
JL town,” the schoolmaster said. 

He had consulted Sylvester Dixon upon the 
subject. 

“ Good skating below the village, Sylvester, on 
the river ? ” 

“ All the way to the lumber camp — leaving out 
the ‘ Falls ’ — and no bad places or big holes on the 
left-hand side of the river any way, Mr. Endicott, 
for I have been down there myself. The bad spots 
are near the village. There are the 4 Falls,’ you 
know.” 

“ Yes, I have been around those ‘ Falls,’ and the 
mills there.” 

Paul chose an evening only two days later than 
that of Judge Alton’s rescue. The moon still 
reigned in the clear winter sky. 

The landlady of the schoolmaster had expected 
to leave him alone at the farmhouse. 


350 


A RACE. 


“ Simon and I are goin’ to Gustav to spend 
the night if you can git along one night, Mr. Ren- 
dercut. I have made preparations for you,” said 
Samantha. 

It seemed to Paul as if in anticipation of this 
event she had been cooking for a week. He 
smiled when he saw the provisions stacked up in 
his behalf on the dining-table. 

44 Good soul ! ” he thought. 44 1 don’t know but 
it is disloyal while she is away at Augusta to go 
skating on the river that has a dragon breathing 
up through those air-holes, but I must have one 
more skate, and if I go during her absence, there 
will be no worrying by her.” 

Worrying! That went on just the same. She 
dreamed at Augusta that Paul was going down 
one of those dragon-mouths, and she awoke Simon 
by her fierce clutches and her wild shrieks of 
44 Save him ! save him ! ” 

She was sorry she had not tied the master to 
the front door of the farmhouse, giving him rope 
enough to reach the schoolhouse door, but not an 
inch more. 

While Samantha was away, this traitor — Paul 
Endicott — casting aside all restraint, went skates 
in hand down to the river. Sylvester joined him, 
and the young men proceeded to bind keels of steel 
to the soles of their boots. 

44 All right, Sylvester ? I’m all right ! How is it 
with you ? ” 


A RACE. 


351 


“ Ready, Mr. Endicott.” 

“ Then away ! Hur-rah ! ” 

The schoolmaster’s voice rang out above the 
white, crystal river as he dashed off on his skates, 
while his big scholar with a strong sweep of his 
long legs threatened to pass him. 

“ He is as much a boy as any of the rest of us,” 
thought Sylvester, giving a look of admiration at 
his young but beloved preceptor. 

Paul was a boy, out of the schoolhouse. When 
he was performing in the r61e of “ master,” he 
strode about the schoolroom floor with great dig- 
nity. He had a very emphatic way of administer- 
ing discipline. He would sharply call out the 
name of the naughty one. And he had also a way 
of glaring sternly and steadily at an offender. It 
seemed as if he would not only send his voice at 
them but shoot his eyes through them. He was 
mild as mildness itself to the good and diligent, a 
zepher gently blowing about them. At the law- 
less, would come voice and look like a shell from a 
mortar. It had an effect, but less voice and less look 
would have answered. It resulted from the mas- 
ter’s inexperience. It was the fault of ignorance. 
If the adjective “ good ” can be pasted on to the 
noun “ fault,” it was a good fault. It was an ex- 
cess of vigilance. Experience tends to bring to a 
poise the exercise of disciplinary forces. Another 
term of school, Paul would have found out that 
it was not necessary to let his voice burst over the 


352 


A RACE. 


head of the guilty like a bombshell, the explosion 
unnecessarily startling the nervous innocents in 
the neighborhood. In the administration of the 
highest discipline, there is a combination of strength 
and quiet self-control. In such a school, violence 
of sound in dealing with an infraction of law, is 
itself an infraction. Paul was quick to learn, and 
would have found this out. He who is not quick 
to learn will never be a success in teaching. 

However, while Paul in school sat impressively 
above his pupils, as an openly confessed “ master,” 
out of school he was down where his scholars 
were, a kind of older brother to them all. If a 
merry, manly shout were heard in the midst of 
the coasting down a hill-slope, it was quite likely 
the shout of the 46 master ” steering little Susan 
Weeks’ sled, a delighted smile beaming all over 
the face of the small female passenger. If a big 
train of sleds went down the same slope, and 
somebody’s felt hat above a lot of brown locks 
was enthusiastically swung higher than the hat 
of anybody else, it surely was the 44 master’s.” 
Not a rogue that feared the 44 master ” in school 
but loved him out of it. Titus Potwin was the 
policeman in school and a policeman out of it. 
His scholars feared him always and everywhere. 
There was no boy-enthusiasm that must find vent 
somewhere. 

It was a big boy who one moonlight night, side 
by side with his scholar, was making good prog- 


A RACE. 


353 


ress on skates down the river. The proposed 
terminus of this skating trip was the judge’s 
lumber camp, now empty, and where Paul with 
Sylvester had gained permission to pass the night. 
Sylvester expected to call briefly at a relative’s on 
the opposite bank of the river while Paul was mak- 
ing the camp ready. The next morning, after an 
early breakfast, Paul and Sylvester expected to 
skate back to the village. 

The moon was just looking over Bald Mountain 
in the east when the skaters started. The heavens 
were without a cloud. The wind was obliging 
enough to postpone all activity and its own trial 
of speed along the river until another day. From 
the windows of dwelling and store, gleamed occa- 
sional lights, but these thinned out quickly as the 
skaters left the village behind them. Overhead, 
the stars were trying to shrink modestly away as 
that big, glorious moon mounted its stately chariot 
of silver, and noiselessly rolled up into the sky. 

Paul had glanced at the lights on the south side 
of the river, and then remarked, “ Don’t see any 
light, Sylvester, in Carberry Boyd’s store, do 
you ? ” 

“ I think,” said Sylvester, “ it was only yester- 
day he concluded to shut up, though he grumbled 
a good deal about it and said he would be even 
yet with Judge Alton.” 

“ Judge Alton did not shut him up.” 

“ Well, the judge had a hand in that temperance 


854 


A RACE. 


meeting which aroused people so, you know. 
Then he has an old grudge against the judge for 
some reason, and I guess that is why he talks so 
about the judge.” 

“ Let him talk. He can’t do anything.” 

“No, perhaps not; but such men keep things 
uneasy.” 

“Let them keep. We will get ahead of them.” 

Ahead of everything the skaters seemed to 
shoot. They left behind the lonely fields sloping 
back from the river, and then the tall, silent 
forests. , A twinkling light from any solitary farm- 
house was soon passed. They went faster than 
any merry jingling teams on the road beside the 
river, and was not Carberry Boyd also to be left 
behind? He did not come again into Paul’s 
thoughts during this swift flight down the river. 
When Carberry Boyd, though, did propose to make 
one of his ugly intrusions upon the notice of 
people, he was not a man to be so easily shut out 
as Paul Endicott might imagine. 

Whirr — whirr — whirr ! 

Above the glistening ice rang out the strokes of 
the skaters’ blades of steel. On and on they 
pressed, making brief halts for rest, going round 
the “ Falls ” with its associated mills, and striking 
out upon the hard, wdiite ice again. At nine they 
stopped off a wooded bog which Sylvester said 
was near the lumber camp. 

“ Here, Mr. Endicott, I will show you where the 


A RACE. 


355 


cart-path starts that runs to the camp, only a 
stone’s throw off. You can’t miss it. I will just 
take a run over the river and see my relatives, and 
be back in half an hour.” 

“ All right, Sylvester ! ” 

Paul left the river, and traversed the icy cart-path 
that wound through the silent, shadowy forest. 
He soon found the camp, kicked away the snow 
around the door, opened it, struck a match and 
lighted a candle he had brought with him. 

“ Now I will get a couple of bunks ready for 
Sylvester and me,” thought Paul. 

Bunks partially provided with bedding, were 
ranged in rows around two sides of the camp. 
Paul quickly prepared his bunk and a second for 
Sylvester, and then noticing that his candle was 
too short to permit a very long use, he blew it out. 

“ Sylvester shall have a light when he comes,” 
thought Paul. “ The camp might be warmer, but 
I guess I had better save what wood is here, and 
warm up for Sylvester when he arrives. I am 
tired and that bunk looks good, and I will just 
lie down and get up when I hear him.” 

Sylvester, though, did not come when he in- 
tended. He found one of his relatives on a sick bed 
and needing the doctor, and as Sylvester seemed to 
be the only person available as a messenger, and as 
he knew that Paul must be snugly sheltered in 
the lumber camp, Sylvester kindly offered to go for 
the doctor living two miles away. In the mean- 


/ 


356 A RACE. 

time, Paul Endicott tired after his long skate, was 
profoundly sleeping in his bunk, his face turned 
toward the wall of logs. How long, or how brief 
a time he may have slept, he could not possibly 
say, but he was aroused by noises not far away. 
At first, he wondered where he was. Then he 
reached out his hands and feeling the rough logs, 
he said to himself, 44 It’s the camp ! That’s where 
I am. All right ! It’s Sylvester trying to find 
that candle, and talking to himself.” 

The next moment, a yellow light was flashed 
against the logs, so sharp that Paul could make 
out the knots in this uneven wall. 

44 That candle flares up well,” thought Paul. 
44 However, he has got a light. All right ! ” 

After the reluctant way of heavy sleepers sud- 
denly aroused, he was slowly making up his mind 
to say, 44 Oh ! you here, Sylvester ? I have been 
saving that wood to make a fire for you when ” — 

Here somebody with an oath growled 44 Jedge 
Alton is ” — 

44 What?” thought Paul, turning over in his 
bunk and facing the interior of the camp. 

44 We’ll fix him to-night,” said another disagree- 
able voice. 

Paul’s first impulse was to leap out of his bunk, 
rush at the intruders, and order them out of the 
camp. First impulses are not always the wisest. 

44 Hold on ! ” thought Paul. 44 Let me see what 
is best to be done. Those fellows mean mischief. 


A RACE. 


357 


Perhaps I can get hold of their plans. As I don’t 
know how they might take my command to leave, 
and I am one against their two, and there is no 
telling where Sylvester is, for I don’t see any sign 
of him or his clothes, I had better take a second 
thought. No harm done in waiting a few minutes. 
Sylvester may come, and between us both, we can 
put those roughs out, I know. Let me think.” 

As Paul quietly lay in his bunk and looked out, 
he saw two visitors at the big, unpainted table of 
pine in the center of the camp. They were seated 
on a rough wooden bench, and their backs were 
turned toward Paul. On the table was a lantern. 

“ It is a dark lantern, and the light comes right 
into my bunk. Wish they would swing the thing 
round. However, they can’t see through their 
backs, and see me,” thought Paul. 

“ Well, what is your plan ? ” said the intruder at 
the right. He had the voice of a big boy rather 
than a man. 

“ What is my plan ? Take your team, or your 
uncle’s you say it is,” replied a voice much older, 
but of the same coarse, rough quality. “ Is it 
your uncle’s ? ” 

“ Yes ; I am only stayin’ on a visit at my uncle’s, 
and I took his team when I got your letter about 
meetin’ you here, and came over here.” 

“ I didn’t ride, and I am tired enough. Walked, 
you know. However, I shall get paid for my walk 
if all things go well. Well, as I told you, the 


358 


A RACE. 


jedge is a-goin’ to jug you. Yes ; he told some- 
body he’d shet you up in jail sure, for settin’ his 
logs adrift, last summer.” 

44 He said so ? ” 

“ Yes, he did.” 

As the man spoke, he watched with dark, sinister 
eyes the effect of his words on the big boy. If 
Paul could have seen the evil look, it would have 
intensified his aversion to the author of it. 

“ You don’t mean to take that like a sheep, do 
you?” 

44 No ; not if I can help it.” 

“ Then I have got a job for you, jest to help, you 
know.” 

44 You mean to pay ? ” said the boy. 44 You said 
in your letter you had a payin’ job.” 

44 Give you ten dollars. That will pay.” 

44 What is it?” 

44 Remember, fust, the jedge means to nab you, 
and if you can worry him and make him feel poor, 
there will be all the less chance of his hirin’ law- 
yers to trouble you and other poor folks, you know.” 

44 Yes.” 

44 Then there’s this ten dollars, you see.” 

Here he held up the bill, taken from a dirty old 
leather pocket-book. 

44 Well, tell me your job ? ” 

44 It means to set on fire his big barn in the 
handiest place possible. Do the job well, and I’ll 
give ye ten more. I’ll help.” 


A RACE. 


359 


“ Is that it ? ” 

“ I guess so. Why not ? What’s that noise ? ” 

Paul in his excitement had stirred in his bunk, 
having made up his mind who the rascals were. 

“ Nothin’.” 

“ Go on, then.” 

“ Where are the jedge’s men ? ” 

“Them niggers ? One is away — Mose, the 
loafer — and the tother two are fast asleep in bed 
by this time, the lazy things. The jedge would do 
anything for a nigger, but nothin’ for a white man 
wantin’ to earn a livin’. But they are asleep, I’ll 
warrant ye. Everybody will be snug asleep. 
Come ! We’d better be a-startin’.” 

Paul by this time had made up his mind to do 
something. He would jump out of his bunk, 
whirling a big blanket over his head, first giv- 
ing a deep bass roar and then a terrific tenor 
shriek. 

“ They’ll think that there are two men, then,” 
thought Paul. “ They will both start to run, and 
I will grab the one I can handle, shouting that 
their plans are all known and they can’t burn 
barns with impunity. They will think it is his 
Satanic Majesty coming, or two of his attendants, 
and the conspirator that escapes, will be too fright- 
ened to think of barn-burning. It is all I can do 
and I will try it.” 

He was about to leap from his bunk, kicking, 
yelling, roaring, flourishing his big yellow blanket, 


860 


A RACE. 


when suddenly came a noise louder than any he 
had intended to make. 

Cr-r-ash ! It was such a frightful violence, jarring 
the camp and agitating the bunk occupied by Paul, 
that he thought the camp itself might have been 
struck this tremendous blow, the roof smashed in, 
and the barn-burners, were they crushed? 

No ! With an oath, the older of the party 
sprang up, seized the lantern, and rushed for the 
door, followed by his companion. 

Paul’s condition was that of bewilderment. 
His first intelligible thought was, “ Some big tree 
fell ! ” His second thought was, “ Those rascals 
will get away from me ! Any way, I will frighten 
them.” 

He sprang out of the bunk yelling, but forgot that 
he was performing in the dark, and as he rushed 
ahead, still roaring, he collided violently with the 
table and over he went, the table pitching also. 
Conscious that he was losing time and the barn- 
burners were gaining it, he quickly arose and 
rushed for the door, shouting, “Away ! begone ! I 
know you ! Both of you, I know ! ” 

Where was the door, though ? Had those scoun- 
drels shut . it ? They had chanced to do so. 
Would they not have rejoiced if they had realized 
that a man desiring to upset their plans was that 
moment an actual prisoner in the lumber camp, 
flopping about uselessly as a fish out of water — 
yes, raving like a madman ! feeling distractedly 


A RACE. 


861 


in the dark for a door that refused to discover 
itself ! 

“ Why,” said the blind man Paul, thrusting out 
his hands here and there, 44 this is ridiculous ! 
Let me think where I came in. Never was here 
before. I will find a wall and then feel along 
until I find a door.” 

Running into a wall, he felt along its surface to 
ascertain if a door could possibly be there. He 
had ceased to shout. He was in the midst of an 
interesting soliloquy. 

“ Bunks,” he said. 44 More bunks. All right ! 
Proceed ! An open space — and — now — nails 
to hang things on. Next — hinges? Oh! good. 
One hinge up there. Now let me feel down here. 
Yes, another hinge. Good ! Here is the door.” 

It seemed now to be the easiest thing in the 
world to find a latch, raise it, and go out; but 
where was the latch ? 

44 Has the door a latch ? ” asked Paul, feeling 
after it at the top and the bottom of the door, along 
the sides, about the hinges, and everywhere save 
in the right place. 44 Let me think. What did I 
find when I came to this door to-night ? ” 

He broke off in the midst of his reasoning to 
give room for the thought , 44 O, dear ! those rascals 
are nicely under way for the judge’s by this time, 
and here I am blundering about.” 

In a chance movement of his hands near the 
edge of the door, he touched the latch. 


362 


A RACE. 


“ There ! I might have found it in the first place. 
Sort of a sunken latch, isn’t it? Now I’ll open.” 

But the door did not open readily. In the ex- 
citement of fright, as if the real danger were be- 
hind and not ahead — that guess was right — 
whoever shut the door had closed it with such 
force that it now refused to budge the smallest 
fraction of an inch. There was but littlei chance 
to seize the door by that sunken latch, and Paul 
wondered what he could do. 

44 This is bothering. When that fallen tree — if 
that were it — came down, it may have jarred the 
walls, and they pressed on the door and — well, 
I must get it open ! ” 

He tried to press the door up and then down, 
tried to shake it, tried to slip his fingers under it, 
and pull, argued with it, coaxed it, scolded it, 
shook it again and — finally it yielded and opened. 
Relieved, as if something must have tumbled on him 
when he heard that noise and he had just thrown 
the avalanche off, he looked out. How white was 
the moonlight up through which rose the trunks 
of the trees. And there, a little way from the 
camp, was a forest monster, a bulky tree that tired 
of standing, weakened by old age, had fallen 
flat and stretched across the cleared nook before 
the camp. But where were the barn-burners ? 
There was no sight of them, no sound of them. 

44 Gone, gone ! ” said the bewildered, bareheaded 
schoolmaster, looking out with a melancholy face. 


A RACE. 


363 


44 Oh ! what a fool’s part I have acted blundering 
round in here. Couldn’t help it. What’s to he 
done now ? If I chase after them — fact is, I don’t 
know which way the road goes and I might get 
puzzled if I came to corners. Of course I would ! 
If I overtook them, they would be two men in a 
sleigh to one outside, and of course they would 
have the advantage. There’s only one thing I can 
do, and I’ll do it. Yes, I will do it, I will ! ” 

Throwing wide open the door and admitting the 
bright moonlight, by its help he found his skates, 
coat and hat, and then quit the camp. He turned 
his face toward the river, reached it, and stooping 
down bound his skates firmly to his feet. Those 
were days when skates were always fastened to 
the feet by long thongs of leather. 

44 Home,” he said, 44 is that way. My only hope 
is that I may get to the judge’s before those ras- 
cals. We’ll try it, any way. Go it ! Put ! ” 

Off he sprang. A single thought he gave to 
Sylvester. It was to recall the fact that on the 
camp table which he had stood on its legs again, he 
had left a page torn out of the back of his pocket 
diary. On this page he had scribbled in the moon- 
light, 44 Had to go home. Sorry.” He left this 
statement on the table to be found by Sylvester, 
and to be read by him in case he had matches. 

44 If Sylvester hasn’t a match,” thought Paul, 
44 he will be in a stew. However, there is only 
one thing I can do, and that is to go ahead.” 


864 


A RACE. 


Up the river he pushed on his solitary mission. 
How bright, silver like, glorious, was the moon- 
light ! Paul’s dark shadow was flung upon the 
glittering ice, moving steadily, stiffly on where the 
stream was straight, then wavering, bending, dart- 
ing away as a curve in the river was turned. 
Such a still, white night, and Paul shooting on, on 
so fiercely, and for what? As he looked ahead 
and looked above the line of forest-trees, it seemed 
to him as if already he could see a flush of scarlet 
flame along the sky. 

44 Awful ! ” he thought. 44 What if the fire 
should make its way from the barns to the long 
woodshed and so get into the house ? ” 

One word came to him, “ Alcestis ! ” It seemed 
as if Hercules must be on his way again to rescue 
a beautiful maiden and this time encircled by a 
belt of monsters that breathed out fire and had the 
glaring eyes of the lightning. Could he forget 
what a pattern scholar in deportment Alcestis had 
been lately ? 

It comforted him one night when he happened 
to overhear a voice from a group of big girls out- 
side of the schoolroom door : 44 Annie, I know, is 
feeling badly because school is almost over. She 
won’t allow it, though.” 

Allow it? Never in word. Sallie and Patty 
openly said they were sorry. Our tongue, though, 
is not our only confessor. Our eyes may be 
traitors and open the castle gates that others may 


A RACE. 


365 


look in. In numberless little ways it would come 
out that somebody besides Sallie and Patty were 
sorry that school was near its last days. 

“ I suppose you are glad,” the master said one 
night to Annie, when they stood all alone in the 
schoolroom, “ because the term is soon over ? ” 

And her eyes fell and she was silent. How 
could she be honest and not confess everything? 
Paul was generous, and changed the subject. “ I 
think I will fix this fire and we will go.” Over 
his skates that night he could see her beautiful 
eyes lifted at once and shining with gratitude. 

He shot ahead with new vigor. 

Hark! 

He dared not stop, but did he hear sleigh-bells 
somewhere over at the right? Sometimes there 
would be a road on the ice, and it would stretch 
up and down the river. Between the lumber camp 
and the judge’s very little use was made of the 
frozen river except to cross it from bank to bank. 

“ Anybody traveling on the road running along 
by the river ? ” wondered Paul. 

Hark ! He strained his ears to listen, but did 
not stop. On ! on ! “ How many miles is it to 

the judge’s ? ” he wondered. 

He began to estimate the distance he had already 
traveled, and how many miles he must yet go. 

On and on he went. 

Just that white moon up in the sky, and the 
stars so faintly shining. 


366 


A RACE. 


All around were the glittering snow-fields, or 
the dark forests. Ahead, that strip of ice, bare 
and glare. Of all these features of interest, the 
center was that one figure steadily pushing for- 
ward, and unattended save by its own dark 
shadow on the glistening ice. He did stop per- 
haps at the end of a four-mile effort, for he was 
very sure he heard a voice. Hark ! He listened 
in that intense stillness of the night. Was it a 
shout of derision from a party in the highway 
making more rapid progress than he ? 

“I must have been mistaken,” he said. How 
big, lustrous and empty was the night ! His dark, 
lonely figure stood out against the white, crystal 
landscape, while the blue heavens, with that splen- 
did moon and the faint silvery stars, shut down on 
the solitary skater like a vast void — like a huge 
dome that one sees above a Moslem grave, and in 
this case covering a dead world. Paul was the 
only being alive. So strange ! everybody else 
dead ! Then two words seemed to fill all that 
space with a wicked activity, with the sharp light 
of a conflagration, crimsoning the azure — “barn- 
burners ! ” 

Again Paul struck forward, and now more 
vigorously. A long stretch of open country was 
before him. Soon he caught a light over at the 
right. Then the dead world did have an inhabi- 
tant in that neighborhood. The light twinkled 
from an isolated farmhouse. Paul could see its 


A RACE. 


367 


dark outlines amid the white fields inclosing it, a 
mass of jet set in a pavement of Carrara marble. 

“Somebody is sick,” he thought. “ Well, that 
is not like the danger from fire. Oh ! if I had 
wings. Instead of Hercules, I wish I were 
Mercury.” 

A man who came from the farmhouse down to 
the river’s edge and lowered a pail into a hole cut 
in the ice, saw this solitary, swift skater, and he 
said, “ That feller has got wings ! ” 

Hercules was Mercury, after all. Five miles 
back to the camp, Paul estimated it to be, and 
then on either side were dark, high walls of forest- 
trees. They threw their shadows broad and heavy 
on the shining ice, as if they would block the way 
of the daring skater venturing within their do- 
minions, but into the shadows he promptly slipped 
and quickly slipped out of them. Next came an 
open country, and then two long reaches of wood- 
land, and he said : “ It must be six miles. Keep- 
ing school all day, skating down to .the camp, 
skating back — it tires me.” 

Sometimes the movement of his body was me- 
chanical simply. The tired spirit seemed to be 
asleep, but the body moved steadily on, swaying 
to right, swaying to left, ever pushing forward. 
Then the strong will within would wake up, and 
Paul with new vigor would spring away. Some- 
where he turned the “ Falls ” and its mills, but 
where he could hardly say. He digressed like a 


368 


A RACE. 


machine, a thing on runners, and then went back 
again, like a machine still, to skate on and on 
automatically. 

Seven miles. He thought he came to a familiar 
place not more than four or five miles below J udge 
Alton’s ; a point where a road came out of the 
silent country and made its way down to the river 
bank. There it put to use this crystal bridge of 
sufficient solidity to bear heavy teams. By this 
icy structure it had crossed to the opposite bank. 
Then it disappeared, striking oft into a country as 
silent and white as that from which it had issued. 

Eight miles, or was it nine miles ? 

Paul’s figures were now running together, but 
his tracks on the ice were regular and distinct. 
Suddenly he heard bells. Was the old meeting- 
house bell ringing out an alarm note, crazily turn- 
ing over and over ? 

No ; a sleigh was coming. The sound of those 
bells thrilled him. How they scoffed at him, and 
suggested defeat. Pie halted a moment and looked. 
Were barn-burners in that sleigh? No, they could 
not be, for this team came down the road beside 
the river. Paul saw it — a lump of blackness over 
in a space of dead white — and out of that dark spot 
swept the clash of bells. They jingled audibly a 
moment longer, and then Paul heard them in 
fainter and fainter tinkles. How gradually, softly 
they died away, melting down into the night ! 

“ Going, going, gone ! ” thought Paul. “ How 


A RACE. 


869 


still it is.” He halted, for an unwelcome thought 
abruptly, in an instant, had come to him. “ What 
if that were the barn-burners’ sleigh coming back ? 
What if they had fired the barn? What if they 
had fired the shed also ! What if the house had 
caught, and Alcestis were now in flames ! ” 

All these suppositions stimulated him like the 
prick of a newly-sharpened spur, and away he 
went, faster, faster than ever! But the school- 
master was tired. The spirit was willing, but the 
flesh was weak. To keep up, and also to quicken 
his speed, he resorted to various devices. Now he 
was riding a horse. 

“Jack, get up, there ! Faster, my boy! It is 
the home stretch, old fellow ! Go it ! ” 

Then he thought he was a dog — a hound. 

“ S-s-st, boy ! catch him, that man at the camp. 
Now, now, go for him! Quick, quick ! Nab him, 
Towser, anywhere, anywhere ! Don’t care if you 
bite him — s-s-s-st, boy ! ” 

Then he was an antelope. 

“ O, my beauty ! faster. Oh ! oh ! a man with a 
bow, a man with a gun, a man with a torch, a 
barn-burner, is after you 1 On, on, my beauty ! so 
fleet — fleet — fleet ! Leap — leap — *1 ” — 

Then the head drooped. He was only Paul 
Endicott doggedly skating. 

His head lifted again. He was Hercules racing 
for Alcestis’ sake — racing with a possible, probable, 
actual sleigh over in that lonely country road. 


370 


A RACE. 


Ten miles, eleven miles. He lost all estimates 
of distance. He saw finally that the neighborhood 
began to look less strange. Clumps of bulky 
shadow rose up out of the ground. They took on 
angular shapes against the cold, glistening sky. 

“ Barns ! ” he muttered. “ Houses I The North 
Village! There are Judge Alton’s buildings.” 

And were they afire? Was there redness any- 
where? He detected no flame, but then on the 
other, the rear side of the buildings, there might 
be tongues of fire darting out. 

He made one more effort, with a violent whir-r-r 
struck the river’s ragged rim, and leaped into a 
snowbank. 

How hard it was to get those skates off ! 

How stiff was every strap ! How immovable 
seemed every buckle ! 

Was he not a week unstrapping those skates? 

They were off at last. Then he could hardly 
move. He dragged one benumbed foot after the 
other, like two huge, stiff fetters, across the field 
between the river and the road. He could see the 
Alton mansion very plainly in the sharp moon- 
beams, but no suspicious light was anywhere visi- 
ble about the house itself. This was encouraging. 

His thumping heart went slower. 

And he did not actually see anybody — any 
barn-burners about ? 

Yes ; he saw — a — man — by the — gateway ! 

His heart beat faster again. 


A RACE. 


3T1 


The dreadful object was stout and black. 

“ Nonsense ! ” he exclaimed, as he approached 
the gateway. “ It is only a stone post. What a 
fool to think it was a man ! ” 

He now boldly passed through the open gateway 
and hurried up the carriage road. 

How still it was about the judge’s house, the 
moonlight swathing it in folds of purest luster. 
The barns beyond looked as usual, the outlines of 
their dark roofs traced sharp against the bright sky. 
Paul could not content himself with a hasty look. 
He must make an investigation. What would he 
find ? As he turned the corner of the building 
called “the big barn,” he could but think, “ Won- 
der if I shall see anything wrong here ! If I should 
see ” — The flow of his thoughts, struck by the 
chill of a sudden alarm, congealed at once. 

He actually shivered. 

He seemed to be turning to an icicle ! 

There in that corner, hidden from both mansion 
and farmhouse, in the black shadow of the barn, 
crouched a lonely figure. There was no chance 
for a second leisurely look. It — man or beast, 
ghost or ghoul — sprang up at once, letting some- 
thing drop that the schoolmaster imagined might 
be a dark lantern, and his imagination did not 
deceive him. 

“ Carberry Boyd and his lantern ; the bigger 
villain I saw at the camp,” was Paul’s first thought. 
Paul, the iciole, was melting. He was on fire 


372 


A RACE. 


now, and he jumped at the figure. The two men 
grioped at once, and the contact was as violent 
as it was sudden. 

Paul wished for more light than he had in that 
dusky corner. His high coat collar, which he had 
turned up after his warm work on the river, inter- 
fered also with his sight, but he saw an opponent 
before him, and fancied that he had a face of sin- 
gular and ugly profile, befitting the villain he had 
overheard in the camp. What a diabolical face ! 

“ Ha, ha ! savagely muttered a voice behind 
that awful profile. 

“ You villain ! ” growled Paul, “ I’ve got you. 
Oh ! you — r you — wretch.” 

“No, sah,” was the suppressed grunt in re- 
sponse. 

Paul was the taller of the two contestants. He 
soon concluded that he was the stronger. His 
steady exercise in the gymnasium, the going up 
and down the ladder, the swinging on the parallel 
bars, the pounding of the sand bag, had told satis- 
factorily on the young man’s muscles. Then as 
the champion of a righteous cause, as the opponent 
of a villainous barn-burner with a dark lantern 
ready any moment for its scoundrely work, as the 
defender of a sleeping household, of Judge Alton’s 
family in general and of the beautiful Alcestis in 
particular, Paul was stimulated to do his best and 
be his strongest. Hercules, that evening, had 
wished he was Mercury. He was glad that he 


A RACE. 


378 


was still Hercules, gripping hard this vile beast, 
Carberry Boyd — this Cerberus, this dog of Hades. 

As they wrestled, groaning, grunting, panting, 
puffing, the two men tumbled out of the shadow 
into the sharp moonlight, and they fell heavily 
upon the snow. Paul, though, fell on top. 

“ Now give up — you — scoundrel — and keep 
still ! ” gasped Paul, shaking his opponent. 
“ Sur-ren-der ! ” 

The man underneath made some incoherent 
reply. 

At such a time, a combatant does not hesitate 
to take any possible advantage that may be offered. 
Paul seeing his adversary’s big and frightfully red 
nose thrust up into the moonlight, grabbed it. It 
was of an inhuman shape and size, or seemed to 
be, but all befitting Carberry Boyd’s face, Paul 
thought ; a face he did not see at the camp. 

“There! A nose — to — go with a rumseller 
— and a pig — and a demon — and — a — will you 
give up ? ” shouted Paul. 

The tone of the reply was defiant, but the 
language unintelligible. 

Suddenly, Paul ceased his efforts. 

“ What — is this ? ” asked the schoolmaster hor- 
ror-struck. 

He had a chance now to see just what was be- 
fore him, and was he pulling on the feature of a 
satyr? It was not natural in size. It yielded 
also to Paul’s pull. It was giving way. In the 


874 


A RACE. 


energetic grasp of the schoolmaster it rose higher 
and higher, and now the whole surface came off as 
if it were an upper skin suddenly peeling, and 
underneath was the face of — Miles Baker! In 
Paul’s hand was a mask. 

“ Why, Mr. Baker, this you ? ” exclaimed the 
astonished schoolmaster, relaxing his fierce hold 
on the agent, and dropping also the mask. 

“Yes; lem-me up! Couldn’t speak — plain, 
with — that thing on,” testily replied Miles. 
“ Lem-me up ! ” 

“ Some mistake about this,” said Paul, rising up 
and allowing the school agent also to rise. “ I 
beg pardon.” 

“ M-m-mistake ? ” spluttered Miles. “I — I 
should think it was. Y-you b-bout — choked — 
me to death.” 

“ I thought you were Carberry Boyd. You 
didn’t tell me.” 

“ I thought you — were Carberry at first — and 
then — then I thought you were S-satan — his own 
self, you went at me so — and choked me, and I 
couldn’t get this pesky mask — off, and ” — 

Miles was interrupted by the sound of an ap- 
proaching step — Judge Alton appearing, lantern in 
hand, and exclaiming, “ Why, Mr. Endicott, this 
you ? And you, Miles ? ” „ 

One combatant was awkwardly shaking the 
snow off from his hat, and the other was confusedly, 
sullenly gazing at a broken mask. 


A RACE. 


875 


“You two been” — the judge looked at the 
broken up arena of snow about him. 

“ Squabbling,” explained Paul. “I — I thought 
it was Carberry Boyd trying to burn down your 
barn, or going to do it. He said so down at your 
lumber camp where I have been, and I have been 
skating up here for dear life to head him off. I’m 
sorry for the mistake.” 

“ And I,” grumbled Miles, “ fust thought it 
was Carberry, and then that the Evil One had 
come with him. My ribs are stove in, my hat 
jammed, my nose ” — 

The judge was laughing violently, yet trying to 
stop. 

“ Gentlemen, I — I beg pardon — I see now how 
it was — ha, ha ! excuse me, Miles would come 
to watch a while, having heard indefinite stories 
about suspicious barn-burners, ha, ha ! and wher- 
ever you’ve been, Mr. Endicott, you must have 
had reason to suppose Carberry was actually com- 
ing and you — ha, ha ! wanted to get ahead of him. 
I see now. My good fellow, I thank you.” 

The judge warmly shook Paul’s hand. 

“ And, Miles, my kind neighbor and good friend, 
I am very much obliged to you. You both are 
he-heroes ” — 

The judge again was laughing. Paul, too, be- 
gan to titter. Miles tried to laugh, but it came 
hard. He felt his bruises too sorely. The judge, 
though, was equal to the occasion. 


376 


A RACE. 


“Now, gentlemen,” he said, in his courteous, 
cordial way, “ you come right in.” 

“I ought to be goin’ home, Jedge. I made up 
my mind there’d be no barn-burnin’, and had 
blowed out my lantern and was goin’ to leave 
when ” — 

“ Mr. Baker, my kind friend, come right in to a 
little lunch, ha, ha ! I’ll send Pete and Ben out 
here. You must, my good friend, I am so much 
indebted to you.” 

Here the judge took Miles by the arm, as if a 
brother in the flesh. 

“ And Mr. Endicott ” — 

Here the judge seized Paul. 

“ Now do me the favor, the great favor. Come 
right along, gentlemen.” 

Miles only needed a little coaxing. He went 
readily after that. No one was up in the old 
mansion. Hired girl and housekeeper were sunk 
in sleep. The judge, though, knew how to make 
a tempting cup of coffee, and Aunt Maria was one 
of those affluent housekeepers never without a 
pantry ready for all emergencies. The judge’s 
lunch was savory and appetizing. And among 
the things that are material, what better aid is 
there to virtue, what more powerful discourage- 
ment of wrong-doing, what brighter cheer for the 
disconsolate and greater reconciler to our defeats, 
than a good meal? This one was a midnight 
lunch, but it was efficacious. Miles felt its influ- 


A RACE. 


377 


ence at last. He even nudged the schoolmaster, 
coughed, and with a playful wink reminded him 
of that “ leetle affair ’tween us.” 

“All right, all right, Mr. Baker. A glorious 
time,” said the master. 

“ When I am married and have a home of my 
own,” thought Paul, “I wish to appreciate the 
good that is possible through my dining-room.” 

The judge insisted that Paul should stay all 
night. Miles went home to go to sleep in good 
humor and frequently laugh in his sleep. He rose 
early and called Amanda away from her nap in 
her chamber that he might tell her about “suthin.” 

When she came down, he said: “ Sis, there’s that 
ere mask ; you’d never know it. It’s not a mask, 
but a mash. And now I’ll tell you the best leetle 
joke ever known in the villij, on this side of the 
river. When I think it over, I b’lieve I held my 
own and frightened and worried the master more 
than he did me. A leetle sore in the back, that’s 
all ! Why, you see, I was a-watchin’ by the jedge’s 
barn, and if the savagest thing didn’t jump at me, 
knock me over, shook me up, pulled me round 
and then grabbed my nose and whisked it off ! 
I thought it was Car berry Boyd, and if it wasn’t 
the master, who thought the same thing of me, and 
we had it hot and heavy — each thinkin’ it was 
Carberry, and Carberry wasn’t thar ! ” 

“ Why, pa ! ” said Amanda, with big, widening 
eyes, beginning to giggle. 


378 


A RACE. 


“ Ha, ha ! I’ve been through the war ; feel as if I 
had fought Injuns, wild beasts, Hottentots, hip- 
hip-pie-pot-tiemusses — I tell you it was great! I 
shook him up, I tell ye, ha, ha, ha ! I give it to 
him, yes, I did. He’ll never git over it.” 

From that time, Miles walked with the pride of 
a veteran who had been through a hundred wars 
and used up the enemy most exhaustivel} 7 . 

The judge and Paul lingered before the open 
fire, after Miles had left. 

“ I was frightened enough, Judge Alton,” said 
Paul, “ when my opponent’s nose came off and his 
whole face left him as if I had scalped him in the 
wrong place ! ” 

The two men roared away before the fire that, in 
the cold, breezy night, laughed and roared with 
them. 

“ You see, Mr. Endicott,” explained the judge, 
“ Miles heard at his store — a great place for news 
— that my barn might be burnt, and - although 
Carberry Boyd’s name was associated with the 
rumors, everything was indefinite, and I did not 
attach any importance to them. Miles did. He 
told me he would watch — yes, insisted on it. It 
was thought that my temperance interest might 
have provoked enmity, and Miles said though he 
had differed from me, still ‘ law must be sustained.’ 
He would come. He brought that mask with him. 
He said to me, ‘ I told Sis I was a-goin’ to put my 
face in armor, and, Jedge, I tried on ’bout twenty 


A RACE. 


379 


of them scare things that I have to sell. Sis, she 
says, “There, father, if you see anybody or any- 
thing, this with a big nose will impress ’em.” I 
don’t know,’ Miles said, ‘ but I think this will 
scare ’em and arm me.’ It seems, though,” added 
was impressed very seriously by you.” 

Again the men laughed, and the fire laughed 
with them again and again, leaping up and turning 
over as if in a fit of mirth. 

Paul then gave in detail his experience at the 
lumber camp. 

“ Indeed I ” exclaimed the judge. “ It is more 
serious than I supposed. If you had not come, I 
don’t know what would have happened before 
morning, for Miles was about going home — he 
and I had relieved one another, and I should not 
have staid up certainly, and Pete and Ben would 
not have been put on the watch. They will be on 
duty now till morning. I must tell Miles all 
about this — I mean your experience at the camp.” 

When he told Miles, the latter said, “ That En- 
dercut, Jedge, is more than ord’nary, and I don’t 
harbor nothin’ ag’in’ him.” 

Judge Alton and the schoolmaster slept in 
peace after the above affair. No torch of the in- 
cendiary attempted to make a rival fire under the 
big, glowing moon. That there might have been, 
the judge had already learned from Paul. How 
near to the mark came the arrow, how narrow the 


380 


A RACE. 


miss was, the judge ascertained within a week. 
Carberry Boyd and his young ally, who turned out 
to be Lem Skillings, were soon arrested for a mis- 
demeanor in town. To make out Carbeny as 
black as possible, and himself as white as possible, 
Lem made a confession that included the attempt 
to burn Judge Alton’s barns. The night of the 
attempt proved to be that on which Paul had 
skated to the lumber camp. 

“ We rode to the jedge’s,” said Lem, “but he must 
have got wind of it somehow, for when we left our 
team in the woods and got pretty near the big 
barn, we heard that nigger Pete sayin’, ‘Who’s 
dar ? ’ ” 

It was then that Lem had a spasm of conscience. 
He advised Carberry to give up the job. Carberry 
took the advice. The Alton household was left 
undisturbed. 

The members of the judge’s family and their 
guest rose in the morning to meet at the breakfast- 
table, and there the judge exclaimed, “You know, 
Maria, I can’t keep anything to myself.” 

“ Don’t try, now,” advised his sister. 

“ I must tell it, if Mr. Endicott is willing. It 
is too good to keep a secret,” said the judge. 

“ Go ahead, sir,” said the schoolmaster, blushing 
and grinning. 

The judge went ahead, and the circle at the 
table followed him eagerly and appreciatively as 
he told his story about Paul and Miles. 



ANNIE AS A MENDER. 



A RACE. 


381 


“ But,” said the judge, amid the laughter, “ I 
think much is due your teacher, Annie. Please 
tell your story at the camp, Mr. Endicott.” 

He told it, and such a hero as the schoolmaster 
was voted to be ! 

“We might have been burned up,” declared 
Aunt Maria, with appreciative warmth. 

“ I know it,” added Alcestis, her bright, brilliant 
eyes voting the thanks that her tongue could not 
easily express to the master. 

But what a trace of the duel in the rear of the 
barn Paul’s overcoat showed ! A long rent in the 
back! “Why, Mr. Endicott,” said Alcestis pity- 
ingly, “that is too bad! You tore your coat last 
night ; don’t you want me to mend it ? ” 

Paul was delighted. If Alcestis of old, when 
fleeing from the shadowy regions, had stopped in 
all her beauty to notice and pity a slight wound 
that great Hercules had received for her sake, he 
would have felt but little of the thrill that now 
excited the heart of the schoolmaster looking down 
and watching the sewer as she neatly darned that 
torn overcoat. 

“ What cunning little fingers ! What she is 
sewing now I think I shall want to wear twenty 
years, at least,” mused the schoolmaster. 

And yet Paul, in his ignorance, expected that 
very day to lay aside the glove that the same 
“ cunning little fingers ” had previously mended. 

How little we understand what may be our 


382 


A RACE. 


really valuable possessions! The most valuable, 
the dearest, how readily we may throw away ! 

In the hall Paul was about opening the front 
door, when Aunt Maria met him and said : “ One 
word, Mr. Endicott. I have not said to you per- 
sonally how much we felt indebted to you for 
your part in my brother’s rescue from the water 
the other night. He often speaks of his great 
debt.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Paul, “ my part was a very subordi- 
nate one. Mr. Gaines was the hero, and Sylvester 
and I were only attachments.” 

The schoolmaster inwardly smiled as he said 
“ attachments.” 

“ Yes, Mr. Endicott, but Frank Gaines might 
have been helpless without you. We thank you.” 

“ Oh ! you are very welcome. Don’t speak 
of it.” 

“ It is so pleasant,” continued Aunt Maria, “ to 
think you know Frank Gaines’s brother in college. 
We trust Frank has made a decided change in his 
life, and the most hopeful thing is that he does 
not attempt it without God’s help. Frank is a 
noble-hearted fellow.” 

“ He must be, if he is Will Gaines’s brother.” 

“But I won’t keep you. We shall be at the 
exhibition, your last day.” 

Aunt Maria went up to the low, broad window 
above the hall door, and watched the schoolmaster 
as he turned into one of the tree-lined avenues 


A RACE. 


383 


leading to the road. She waited, also, until she 
caught a glimpse of the schoolmaster’s hat and 
affluent locks beyond this avenue. Then she 
heard the hall door softly open, and soon saw a 
girlish, red-shawled figure enter the avenue of 
pines. Such a contrast between that form so 
quietly moving, the head demurely drooping, and 
the young man striding off energetically along the 
road, flourishing a pair of skates. 

“ That is Annie ! She generally makes more 
noise than that when she leaves the house,” re- 
flected Aunt Maria. “ Why didn’t those young 
people go to school together? Now if our Annie 
had been a little girl, he would have taken her by 
the hand and said, ‘ Come, Annie.’ But there, as 
it is ” — She sighed, and stole away into her 
room. She did not quit it at once, for she tarried 
to look back into the past, seeing in Paul Endi- 
cott’s features the face of another young man to 
whom she had once given her heart, while out of 
memory’s casket stole the fragrance of the thought 
that she had never taken that heart back. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE LAST DAY. 

A SCHOOL term may be very long. The 
teacher may be at last so wearied and ner- 
vous as to keep school day and night. In this 
case our hero slept soundly at night, and his school 
did not tease him by day. The spring term, though, 
at college had begun, and Paul felt that he ought 
to resume his place in his class. For this reason 
the time came when he began to count the days, 
and wish the end would arrive. 

“ That last day is so provokingly slow in com- 
ing,” he said, more than once. 

At last, though, came the last. 

The “ exhibition ” opened and closed. It was 
pronounced a success. The “secret” on the pro- 
gramme proved to be a big Unabridged Webster’s 
Dictionary. Sylvester Dixon presented it to the 
master. His remarks brought him praise, and 
were pronounced an honor to the school. 

There was a little complimentary speech-making 
384 


THE LAST DAY. 


885 


by dignitaries present, such as the minister and 
Judge Alton, and Miles Baker, too, was unex- 
pectedly called upon. 

He sprang to bis feet promptly. “Ahem-m-m ! ” 
ahem-m-m ! ” he sputtered several times, grinning 
bewilderingly, feeling an unusual fullness in the 
head, and yet a singular emptiness. He made an 
agonizing grasp after his fleeting ideas, catching 
and delivering this at last, “ I guess as how — as 
how — we must call this a good skewl.” He 
gazed around most blandly for a minute, and then 
dropped heavily into his seat, the cold perspiration 
standing in beads on his forehead. 

At the supper table that night he remarked to 
his daughter : 44 I felt jest — when I was speakin’ 
this afternoon — jest like one of my egg boxes 
when it comes from Boston where I sent it — felt 
full of nothin’. I say, Amanday, I say,” he spoke 
nervously, at the same time shoving a big mouth- 
ful of hot gingerbread down his throat. 

“ What, pa ? ” simpered Amanda. 

“ Did I hit the mark, or did I make a fool of 
myself this afternoon ? ” 

“ Pa, your s-speech was s-short and s-sweet. 
More’n three persons s-said those very words-s to 
me. Far better than Judge Alton’s long-winded 
s-speech.” 

“ I cal’late, darter,” replied the delighted Miles, 
cooling his saucer of hot tea with long puffs, 44 1 
cal’late ” — puff — “I can kiver the p’int every 


386 


THE LAST DAY. 


time ” — puff — “ and when your pa sets out ” 
— puff — “he — he can do,” — puff — “ some.” 

When the last day’s exercises had been closed, 
the scholars flocked about Paul to say good-by. 
But among the boys where was Bill Potwin ? He 
had waited upon the master most attentively in all 
the preparations for the exhibition, gathering ever- 
green in the woods, tying and hanging wreaths, 
covering up as many scars in the wall as possible. 
Bill had begged the gift of a wreath after school, 
and had he gone off with it? The little girls 
waiting to say good-by were in tears. Among the 
big girls on the back seat, Sallie Ricker went into the 
dressing-room, her eyes very red. Amanda Baker 
intended to have a “good cry,” and wanted the 
master with his own eyes to notice what a Niobe 
she could make. Looking out of the window, she 
saw Titus Potwin in the road standing by his new 
sleigh and beckoning to her. She adjourned her 
cry until the morning, when she hoped to see the 
master at the post-office, for would not Paul stop 
there ? She intended to call and tell all the news 
to the postmistress. She now smiled on Paul and 
said, “ I s-sha’n’t make a fool of mys-self till 
morning and ” — 

The girls began to laugh, and Amanda went 
out thinking she had said a bright thing. 

But where was Annie Alton? The schoolmas- 
ter would have appreciated a little demonstration 
of regret on the part of the brightest, prettiest girl 


THE LAST DAY. 


387 


in the school, hut she only said demurely, “ Good- 
by, Mr. Endicott. We shall be glad to see you at 
our house.” 

Her eyes were as dry as they were brilliant. 
He took her hand. It was cold. 

“ Annie, I have enjoyed very much ” — 

“ Good-by ! ” shouted a rogue, passing out. 
“ Mother hopes you will teach again.” Then he 
whispered, “ I don’t, if you are going to stand me 
up in the corner as many times.” 

Still clinging to the cold little hand, Paul be- 
gan again : “ Annie, I am very sorry to say ” 

“ Good — good-by, Mr. Endicott ; I wish ” — 

It was one of the little girls sobbing. Paul let 
go Annie’s hand to comfort this last arrival. He 
was conscious that Annie was saying “ Good-by.” 
She sadly said it, he afterwards remembered with 
delight, for it is human nature to take great com- 
fort sometimes in the pain of others. 

When he looked up, Annie was gone. He 
rushed to the door. She was leaving the school- 
house in company with Judge Alton and his 
sister. 

“ Miss Alton ! ” called Paul. He had rarely 
addressed his scholar in that way except in the 
first few days of their acquaintance, and she did 
not now reply to this name. The judge’s sister 
naturally enough turned round. 

“ Oh — oh — oh ! ” said Paul confusedly. “ All 

— right ! ” 


388 


THE LAST DAY. 


Aunt Maria smiled, took it as a nervous farewell, 
and turned to resume her walk with the judge. 
The person Paul did mean to address, was now 
walking ahead by herself, looking abstractedly and 
sorrowfully at the snow about her feet. If she 
had turned and taken one step toward the school- 
house door, Paul would have eagerly met her and 
taking the chilled little hand again, said, “ Annie, 
I have enjoyed very much your acquaintance and 
— and ” — 

Would he have actually expressed the next 
thought ? 

“I — want you — to write me sometime — about 
my old scholars and — matters and — things — 
and let your old teacher write to you — if your 
father has no objection.’’ 

Would he have asked this privilege? Who 
can say ? It is sometimes a short road between 
the possible and the actual, and sometimes a long 
long way — very. 

As it was, Paul having said nothing, returned 
to the schoolhouse, called there by several voices. 
They died away and Paul was all alone. He stood 
in an empty schoolroom. 

“All over!” he exclaimed. “It does not seem 
possible.” 

The western sun now almost out of sight, was 
suspending very transient hangings of crimson 
on the shabby eastern wall of the old schoolroom. 
Some of this parting glory descended upon the 


THE LAST DAY. 


889 


dingy door leading into the entry, the red light 
there falling back like the withdrawing folds of a 
rich portiere. It attracted his attention to the 
outer door. 

“Oh!” he exclaimed, “that door is open. I’ll 
shut it a moment.” 

He closed it, and came back into the empty 
room. 

“Can’t realize it! ” he murmured. 

He sat down once more in the chair within the 
humble corner pen. 

“I want to find out how it feels not to be 
a teacher ; to sit here just as a — a — visitor. 
Queer ! ” he thought. Then he bowed his head 
upon the lid of the desk and rested it there. He 
was tired. It was a relief to lay his head on that 
hard lid. 

His thoughts went over the past. He recalled 
some mistakes that he had made, some harsh 
words that he had spoken, and the faces of his 
old scholars began to come before him. 

“ What, all coming ? ” he wondered. 

Yes ; they all seemed to be coming back, noise- 
lessly, though, as specters dead, and they filed into 
their seats. The dead Sammy came too, and very 
quietly now. They all looked toward the master’s 
desk. He saw them, though he did not lift his 
head. 

Were they present as unsympathetic specta- 
tators, as cold judges, or as the old friends, the 


890 


THE LAST DAY. 


boys with whom he had practiced in the gymna- 
sium, the children with whom he had coasted ? 

The faces all looked very friendly. Sammy 
seemed to be waiting for a song or a story, as of 
old. Sylvester looked as if expecting one more 
disentangling of a twisted sentence in Latin. Bill 
Potwin was there, his heavy features lighted up 
with an unusual interest. And across the stretch 
of seats, shone the ejms of Alcestis, tender and 
sympathetic as on the night of the famous spelling 
school. 

Yes, all were there once more. For any good 
he had done, the master was grateful. He some- 
times wished that his father and mother were 
on the earth, that they might divide any sorrow 
with him, or rejoice with him in any joy. Did 
they see their lonely boy now in the teacher’s pen ? 
The sun seemed to pity him ; was it pity, though, 
or congratulation that it meant when, taking 
the rich portiere away from the dingy door, and 
the crimson glory from the shabby wall, it touched 
with its last, retreating luster his bowed head? 
He knew nothing of this. He arose, seized his 
hat, pinned his shawl across his breast, and moved 
away from the desk. He had in school time in- 
sisted upon it that his boys should go on tiptoe. 
He, too, had respected this law, making it as set as 
any of the Medes and Persians, and with a hushed 
step he had gone about the room. He now looked 
back upon the seats empty yet filled, sadly said, 


THE LAST DAY. 


391 


“ Good-by,” and tiptoeing as if before a roomful 
left the schoolhouse. 

As he locked the outside door, the sound made 
by the key turning in the lock was an intelligible 
one, and to Paul’s ears it was a “ G-g-good-b-by ! ” 
from the lock and key ; “ good-by I ” from the door, 
“ good-by ! ” from the building. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

LEAVETAKING. 

* 6 /^\ OOD-BY, Mr. Hanscom ! Good-by, Mrs. 

VJX Hanscom ! You have been very kind, 
and I thank you sincerely. Good-by ! ” said the 
ex-master the next morning. 

“ Come again,” Simon urged. “You seem jest 
like one of our folks.” “ I shall feel dredful bad,” 
was all that the tearful Samantha could say. 

Paul looked back after he had left the house. 
Above a drab curtain strung across the lower half 
of a window, he saw Samantha’s round, flushed, 
sorrowful face rising up like the full moon out of 
a fog bank on the horizon. 

“ I must peek once more,” she murmured, and 
“ peeked ” again. Then she stole back into the 
schoolmaster’s room, took from the mantel the 
picture of Ajax, and violently sobbed as she gazed 
at it. “ Jest — like — Ajux. Two — peas in a pod 
couldn’t be — more — alike. I shall — never — 
see him — ag’in — O, dear ! ” 

392 


r 


LEAVETAKING. 


393 


Paul went to the post-office, met Sylvester 
Dixon there, and the two went off in Sylvester’s 
sleigh. 

“ A good voyage,” screamed a female voice from 
an open window in Miles Baker’s domicile. The 
schoolmaster did not seem to hear and did not 
hear. If he had caught the sound of that scream, 
his low-crowned felt hat would have swung round 
as readily as a vane in a gale of wind. 

It came again : “ A good voyage.” 

“ Ship ahoy ! What do you want ? ” was the 
ready response of a strong but coarse voice turn- 
ing the corner of an adjoining building. 

“Oh! that you, Titus-s-s Potwin?” said the 
sibilant Amanda. 

“Yes; what’s that you’re bawlin’?” 

“ A good voyage — good-by, you know. The 
French say it, or that’s what they mean by their 
good-by.” 

“ Say 4 ship ahoy ’ and be done with it ! Give 
me the old English, and away with your French 
— and — Latin — and — innovations.” 

Amanda having now descended, Titus shouted 
again and in her big ear, “ Ship ahoy ! ” as if driv- 
ing sound down a trumpet. 

“Sakes! you s-s-tun me. La, Titus-s Potwin, 
you are jale-ous-s-s.” 

Before the beams of this present Apollo, the 
schoolmaster was only a retreating sun, and he 
went off without further notice. 


394 


LEAVETAKING. 


Outside of the village, though, Paul met and 
spoke to a scholar. 

The sleigh reached the town cemetery on the 
southern slope of a low hill. Paul saw somebody 
running down toward the road, waving a wreath 
above his head. 

“ That’s Bill Potwin ! ” exclaimed Paul. “ Mrs. 
Hanscom said that he called when I was out last 
night, and he said he had to hurry off from the 
schoolhouse to do an errand, and he hoped yet 
to see me. The last I saw of him he had one of 
the school evergreen wreaths in his hand; I gave 
it to him. He wanted to do something with it. 
Just pull in a minute, Sylvester, please.” 

Bill came down to the sleigh. 

“ Good-by, William,” said Paul cordially, reach- 
ing out his hand. “ Don’t forget me.” 

“ N-no ! ” said Bill, his voice choking, as if 
something had lodged in his throat and he tried to 
gulp it down. The “ good-by ” he could not say. 
He stared the schoolmaster out of sight, when he 
had returned to the cemetery. 

“Forget?” exclaimed Bill. “For” — the rest 
of this word he gulped down, and then went up 
the slope to a grave that revealed itself in a little 
crease in those beautiful folds of crystal that 
winter had laid everywhere on the old cemetery, 
as if to keep it warm. 

“ Sammy,” he said, kneeling down, “ do you hear 
me ? I want to put this green down here. It was 


LEAVETAKING. 


395 


one of the green fixin’s in the schoolhouse, and I 
thought you would like it. He gave it to me. 
Can you hear me? If you can, I want you to 
help me to do what he told me. P’raps you’ll 
pray for me.” 

Bill turned away, having left that wreath of 
green on the crystal-covered grave. He departed 
to recall the master’s kindness and confidence, and 
by it be lifted into a nobler life. 

Paul did not forget Bill. Often that day, on his 
wintry journey, looking out of the car window on 
any high white landscape, he seemed to see a boy’s 
form standing out against the blue sky, holding in 
his hand a wreath of green — a symbol of hope ; a 
prophet of the w r arm and sunny days of spring. 

Sylvester turned his horse into the road stretch- 
ing across the yet frozen river, and when the other 
side had been reached the two young men shook 
hands cordially, and separated. 

Paul could not appreciate the strong knpulse he 
had given to Sylvester’s life in the direction of 
scholarly aims and accomplishments. Who could 
appreciate it? A teacher’s life in a community 
may be of no longer span than a three months’ 
term, but through the community that life, if 
right, has gone like a beneficent river, stimulating 
and helping. How many lives will have been 
touched, and the touch be felt forever ! 

Paul Endicott, a river of good, could not pos- 
sibly measure the size and the strength of the 


396 


LEAVETAKING. 


current of his influence. He was now alone. 
There in the snowy road he was thinking, not 
upon any possible good he had done, but on 
other matters. 

“ Here I am to wait until Levi Green’s stage 
comes along. It is the day when a 4 rival line ’ 
runs on the other side of the river to the cars, and 
Levi comes from 4 up the river,’ and he follows 
down on this side. Of course I must take my ride 
back to the world with him ; couldn’t go with any- 
body else, and I must go this way. So I got 
Sylvester to bring me here, and then I wanted ” — 

He did not continue his reflections, for he heard 
sleigh bells down on the road that crossed the ice, 
and he gave attention to this shower of music 
sprinkled upon the air. If he had finished his 
sentence, it would have run thus : 

44 1 wanted to see the spot once more where I 
met Alcestis. I would like to get a clue to that 
n^stery. JV'hat eyes Annie Alton has ! ” 

Then he gave his thoughts to that silvery 
succession of tinkles off on the river, and not to 
Alcestis. 

44 Can’t be Levi’s horses. Of course not. He 
comes down out of the country somewhere. It 
can’t be Sylvester coming back over the river. 
Pleasant sound.” 

Yes, the bells were good performers. Paul 
could but think of that day of his arrival, 
when he heard the soft, sweet clash of the bells 


LEAVETAKING. 


397 


amid the falling snow, as he tramped toward the 
river town. 

“Why, it makes me think so much of Alcestis,” 
declared Hercules. “ And if those bells are not 
coming this way, too.” 

When the sleigh neared him, the driver began 
to pull in his horse. 

“ Good-morning! ” he said very pleasantly. 

The schoolmaster had modestly lowered his eyes, 
but he now raised them. Then he gave a percept- 
ible start. 

The driver had the finely-cut profile of the 
person whom Paul had once lifted out of the snow 
drifts, and near the spot where he now stood. 

Paul saw also the outlines of the man’s face that 
had interested him when at Judge Alton’s he was 
giving that recitation in behalf of Slave Ben. 

But who was the gentleman’s companion in this 
sleigh ? She had those sparkling eyes which, once 
seen, could not easily be forgotten — the beautiful 
eyes of Alcestis ! Was this a dream, a phantasm, 
a spectral illusion? 

“ I I beg pardon,” said the driver, who had 
left the sleigh and was advancing toward Paul, 
courteously lifting his hat and holding out his 
hand ; “I am Frank Gaines — you know my 
brother Will — and this is Miss Alice Alton, 
Annie’s sister.” 

The master was bewildered. 

If this astonished Hercules spoke with a falter- 


398 


LEAVETAKING. 


ing tongue, the others attributed it to the fatigue 
naturally following his final and wearing labors at 
school. 

Frank Gaines continued : “ I have been wanting 
to call on you ” — 

“And I wanted to meet you,” was Alcestis’s 
significant remark to her former rescuer ; “ and 
since father’s accident — his fall into that hole in 
the ice ” — 

“ Oh ! don’t mention it, Miss Alton.” 

“ But we have mentioned it,” said Frank ; “ and 
we wanted to call on you, but recently neither of 
us has been in town until last evening late. We 
thought we would call on you this morning, but 
found we — couldn’t find you. Mrs. Hanscom 
told us Sylvester Dixon would take you from the 
post-office here to catch Levi Green, and we re- 
solved to overtake you before you left town ” — 

“ Even if we turned our horse into a bird, Mr. 
Endicott,” said Alcestis. 

“ You are very kind,” replied Hercules, talking 
as in a dream, and expecting these phantasmagoria 
to vanish an}>- moment. 

“ If you are going to Brunswick, remember me, 
please, to my brother. Say I go back to my 
college to-morrow.” 

“ I will, Mr. Gaines. I — I have been trying to 
find you.” 

Frank then turned his horse about, but before 
starting on the home journey, told Alice he must 


LEAVETAKING. 


399 


cut a switch, as he had failed to bring a whip, and 
a touch from a switch might help the horse. 

In his absence, Alcestis remarked to Hercules : 

“ I remember this place, Mr. Endicott, very 
distinctly. I have not forgotten, also, your help.” 

Her look of gratitude expressed all that was left 
unsaid. 

“ Things are very different now, I am glad to 
say, and I recognize your influence as no small 
agency in the change,” she assured Hercules. 

Hercules was trying to realize what she said, 
murmuring a dissent, when a sharp, strong clash 
of bells came up a rise of ground, and there was 
Levi Green’s stage behind the brisk music. 

“ Good-by ! ” cried Alcestis and Frank in chorus, 
Alcestis looking back gratefully. 

“ Good-by ! ” replied Hercules. 

“ Goin’ with me, Mr. Rendercut ? ” asked Levi 
Green. 

All the romance of the Alcestis episode in Paul’s 
life fled away before the charge of those nasal 
tones. 

“ Yes ; and I’ll sit with you, please,” replied the 
young man, who, as a humble passenger, just an 
ex-teacher, took his seat beside Levi. 

“ Git up, beauties ! Don’t show off ! ” cried 
Levi to the four lean beasts. 

Levi wished to talk. The schoolmaster preferred 
to meditate. 

“Well,” mused Paul, “I am relieved to find out 


400 


LEAYETxVKING. 


the truth in that Alcestis matter. The sisters, 
Alice and Annie, closely resemble one another 
about the eyes and in their complexion, but are 
unlike in some other features. I suppose Frank 
was out on a ride with Alice the night I helped 
them, and — he — was drunk. Too bad. I shall 
know more some time.” 

One day he did learn the following facts. Alice 
Alton and Frank Gaines first knew each other in 
New York, where they both chanced to be visiting. 
The acquaintance had become very intimate. She 
went to Brinkerville ultimately, a town six miles 
from home, to attend a boarding-school. 

Frank wrote her that he was spending the 
winter in her father’s neighborhood, and he would 
ride down to see her. To her surprise and sorrow, 
she saw that he was intoxicated when he called. 

She concluded promptly to get him away from 
the boarding school, where fortunately nobody but 
herself had noticed his condition. 

She could drive, and she urged the horse home, 
but Frank’s condition became more and more un- 
satisfactory. He boarded in the farmhouse, whither 
Paul followed them. 

When Paul was questioning Mrs. Hanscom 
about this neighborhood, there was a very good 
reason why Paul did not obtain the information 
he desired ; Paul and Samantha were traveling 
different roads, and meant different neighborhoods. 

As the schoolmaster meditated, that old country 


LEAVETAKTNG. 


401 


stage went lazily along. Suddenly a voice burst 
upon Paul’s musings there by the side of Levi 
Green. 

“ A penny for your thoughts ! ” 

Paul raised his head and looked at Levi. 

“ Say, schoolmaster, I have spoken to you six 
times, but you’re deaf as a haddick. I was 
a-thinkin’ now if you want to take your last look 
of the place where you’ve been, you’d better turn 
round. Don’t you see the white meeting-hus of 
the villi j where you’ve been, off in the nor’ west, 
there ? ” 

“ Why, yes.” 

“ Your only chance ; look now ! ” 

“ There is a clump of something this side of the 
meeting-house.” 

“ If your eyes are good, you may see a roof or 
two — Jedge Alton’s place.” 

“ Ah ! ” said Paul, looking with sudden 
intentness. 

At first, he could only see a white steeple in a 
white landscape. Beyond he saw something else 
— distant mountains, snow-covered, rising up to- 
ward a sky of stainless azure. 

It was such a pure, serene picture, and those 
hills were only slopes covered with the bloom of 
white asphodels, outside the gates of Paradise, and 
winning mortals there. 

“Lovely! ” exclaimed Paul. 

“ What ? The meeting-hus or Jedge Alton’s ? ” 


402 


LEAVETAKING. 


“ Oh ! the whole scene — it is perfect.” 

If his vision had been sharper, his praise might 
have been still more enthusiastic. He would have 
seen a girlish figure at a window, looking in the 
direction of that far-off, solitary stage. It was 
Alcestis — not the older, but the younger, viewing 
the landscape. 

Somehow Paul’s scholar had had a strange 
restlessness that morning. Her thoughts were 
travelers as energetic as Paul Endicott himself, 
and they all went his way. 

“ Your faithful friend, Paul Endicott,” she read 
aloud. “ And he gave the same kind of card to 
all in my class in literature. Will he always be 
faithful?” 

She gazed at the little card of remembrance the 
teacher had given. She sighed, little thinking 
who at the other end of that long winter picture 
gallery was looking toward her. 

“ There she goes — last of the meeting-hus ! ” cried 
Levi Green. “ There go the jedge’s chimbleys ! ” 

Yes ; going, gone ! 

And yet staying in the master’s thoughts. 

He continued to see the judge’s “place,” and 
like one searching for a foot-print in the snow, 
looked everywhere for some sign of his scholar’s 
presence. 

“ The little thing ! ” he said. “ I did not think 
I should miss her so. How I have misjudged her 
all the winter in that Alcestis matter! What a 


LEAVETAKTNG. 


403 


wretch I have been ! Where is that place she 
mended in my coat ? ” 

In the stage, in the cars, even when going up 
the college yard, he gazed mournfully at the 
mended garment, and wished he could see the 
mender. 

And Annie ? 

A long time she tarried at the window of her 
room. Now and then she intently gazed at the 
bit of pasteboard in her hands. But what made 
her give a little start ? 

Turning the card over, she saw on the other 
side a faint penciling, unnoticed before. 

“ Do not forget me. P. E.” 

That little postscript Annie had not seen on any 
other card, and if she had examined all the 
scholars’ cards, she could not have found that 
request again. 

Her heart was in an excited flutter. 

“ 4 Do not forget me. P. E.,’ ” she softly mur- 
mured. 

Something like a sudden April shower fell from 
her eyes on the master’s plea not to be forgotten. 


CHAPTER XXIX, 


BACK TO PRIVATE LIFE. 


HERE is no day but that has its sunset. 



JL There is no road without its stopping-place. 
Ships get to port or the bottom of the sea; in 
some way they close the voyage. Paul Endicott 
was finally established in his college duties. He 
was an obscure student again, sitting towards 
dusk in his room, and waiting for prayers. How 
the shadows deepened about him ! How slyly 
yet thickly they stole through the windows ! Out 
of the open fireplace, what a charging of tiny 
elfin knights in golden armor, throwing their 
lances at the shadows, and trying all over the 
room to rout them. In vain. That particular 
day at Bowdoin was over, and the shadows had 
come to stay until morning. 

44 Come in ! ” cried Paul, in response to a knock 
at the door. 

44 Old boy ! ” said Will Gaines, rushing in and 
giving him the grip of their secret society. 44 When 


404 


BACK TO PRIVATE LIFE. 


405 


did you get back? Glad to see you. Safe and 
sound. Covered with glory, I don’t doubt.” 

“ I doubt it, thanking you, though.” 

“Well, tell us all about it. How did you like 
school? What did you do? You see I have been 
away ten days, and I have just had a chance to 
see you. Did you see my brother ? ” 

“ Yes ; he looked nicely, and is doing well. He 
forwards his love — a bushel of it, probably.” 

“ Good ! ” 

The two friends sat down side by side. 

“ Well, schoolkeeping, Will, is a big thing ” — 

“ A big thing ? I rather guess so.” 

“ It’s that big to me, that I don’t think I know 
so much about it as I did before I began.” 

“ That is modest.” 

“ It makes you feel that you are nothing and 
nowhere. I saw so much to be done that what I 
did seemed to be very little.” 

“ Now you get off that horse. Tell us how you 
got along with the boys.” 

u Oh ! first-rate, after an opening skirmish.” 

Paul then detailed his management of the noise 
made by the boys in the entry, and added : “ I con- 
quered those boys by strategy. I must say I hated 
to stop for it. I felt like stepping up to the offend- 
ers and stretching them out one by one. It would 
have made a terrible uproar for the time being, and 
I don’t think I should have subdued my boys so 
effectually. What do you think of my course ? ” 


406 


BACK TO PRIVATE LIVE. 


“ What do I think of strategy ? That was my 
course. What do you think of it when you come 
to look back upon it ? ” 

“ I think it was best, for it was the most thorough 
subjection of my boys.” 

“ And what did you think of Titus — the regal 
Titus Potwin?” 

“We were not congenial. We were against one 
another at a spelling match.” 

“ And you whipped him ? ” 

“ He was defeated, and — so was I.” 

“ You ? ” 

“ Yes ; and a fool was I. Tripped up by some- 
body friendly enough ; but do you remember a 
rock of danger you warned me against ? ” 

“ One Alton ? ” 

“ The very one. A ‘ rock of danger,’ and I was 
tripped up by the word 4 dangerous.’ ” 

“ How?” 

“ Thoughts were diverted, you know. I was 
thinking of what you said, Will, and when I 
spelled the word, stuck an extra e in. Oh ! what 
a fool ! ” 

When Will Gaines had had his laugh out, he 
had other inquiries 'to make. 

“ Tell me how you left my dear friend, young 
William Potwin?” 

“ Improving. Now that fellow has the making 
of a man in him, I think ; and one of my scholars 
is so far on the road of improvement, that he is 


BACK TO PRIVATE LIFE. 


40T 


coming to college next fall. You didn’t know him 
— Sylvester Dixon?” 

“ Never saw him. It took a brilliant light to 
attract that fine moth, you see. Tell me about 
any others, Paul.” 

At that moment a student arrived with the mail 
for all the fellows on that floor. He left a news- 
paper with Paul. 

“Ah, Will!” said Paul ; “this is the weekly 
paper published in my school neighborhood, and 
here is a marked item.” 

Will glanced at it and shouted : 

“ Hurrah ! See here, young man ; let me 
read it. Hear, hear ! It is headed, 4 The Close of 
School in Our Village.’ 

“ ‘ One more school term has hied away. It has flown 
like the birds of summer.’ [That is appropriate, Paul, for 
winter.] ‘ We shall think of it as it stands out in memory’s 
rosy light. And our young teacher, can we ever forget his 
wise counsels?’ [There, Paul, for you! Merit rewarded at 
last.] * He may feel that he takes away the love and respect 
of his pupils to whatever clime he may be called. May 
Heaven’s richest blessing attend his steps. 

A. B.’ 

“There for you, Paul. Amanday Baker, sure.” 

“ Who-o-o ? ” said the blushing Paul. 

“ Why, Amanday. Have you forgotten? And 
Father-in-law Baker — don’t you know him, Paul? 
You must make some return for all this. What 
else, Paul? ” asked Will. “ There is no telling 


408 


BACK TO PRIVATE LIFE. 


what you have been up to. We shall have to call 
a meeting of the faculty to examine into your 
record while absent.” 

“ I am willing to have the examination, provided 
you will let your record be inspected. I found I 
was successor to such a saint and hero ! His 
example was so continually thrown at me that it 
got to be embarrassing. You want to see the 
handwriting of some of your admirers ? I had a 
quantity of such penmanship bestowed upon me 
last day of school.” 

Paul took from a drawer a heap of cards inscribed 
with the affectionate remembrances of his scholars. 
They were of every kind ; plain cards, or pieces of 
white pasteboard encircled with wreaths of pink and 
yellow roses, or bearing that symbol of friendship 
— two firmly clasped hands, until death, of course. 

44 They look natural, Paul. They just about 
kill the teacher with their thoughtless pranks, and 
then bury him, the last day of school, under a 
shower of loving remembrances. I have kept my 
cards sacredly. We can’t forget our scholars, 
you know.” 

Teachers forget ? As we turn to the past and 
listen, we never cease to hear the voices musically 
ringing from the far-away beaten playgrounds, or 
echoing from the hours of recitation. Do we win 
to-day the crown of any honor? We hear the 
beating hands of applause from our old boys and 
girls, scattered now all over the land. 


BACK TO PRIVATE LIFE. 


409 


Do we go forward to meet hours of pain and 
shadow ? The noiseless drapery of the past will 
part its folds, and there will bend forward and 
look tenderly upon us the sympathetic faces of our 
old scholars. Wherever they are, may God bless 
them, every one. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


ON THE ROAD TO GETTYSBURG. 

JULY sun was pouring down its heat upon 



JTX a dusty road leading to the historic battle- 
field of Gettysburg. In the road was a great, con- 
fused, weary throng — a section of our Union army. 
That this particular road would eventually take 
them to a bloody battle at Gettysburg, was not at 
all in their minds, any more than any of us appre- 
ciate the fact that life’s ordinary path to-day will 
take us to a serious, perhaps fatal, issue to-morrow. 

Those soldiers had not the least idea whither this 
road would take them. They knew only these 
two things ; that Lee and his Confederate army 
had come up from Virginia, splashed through the 
Potomac, and were somewhere ahead. The Union 
soldiers knew also that they were tired. So they 
wearily tramped on — oh ! how unconsciously — 
toward the thunder of Gettysburg’s big guns, 
toward hospital-wards of pain and distress, toward 
the crossing of still, white hands in an eternal 


410 


ON THE ROAD TO GETTYSBURG. 


411 


rest. Doggedly, persistently, they tramped on. 
These men moved like a machine whose wheels 
are worn and inclined to stop, but an iron kind of 
a will is behind, and they keep turning, turning, 
turning. 

It is said of a body of cavalry in the Gettysburg 
campaign, that their march one night was un- 
usually hard. The darkness was dense. The 
men and the horses were worn out. Cavalrymen 
in their saddles would nod, lose themselves, and 
fall into slumber. When the trampling column 
might halt, then the horses would improve their 
opportunity. They too would close their eyes 
and enjoy a nap. The officers felt a peculiar re- 
sponsibility. They must be awake to keep the 
column closed up, and they resorted to various 
devices to insure wakefulness. They would nip 
their flesh or stick pins into it — anything to keep 
their eyes open. All this showed the tiresomeness 
of the way. 

The march detailed in this chapter was by day, 
and stretched out a wearying distance. A troop 
of cavalry might go by, the horses pounding the 
earth, while their riders incessantly clanked and 
jingled spur and saber. Then it would be a bat- 
tery rattling and thumping and grinding along. 
The infantry moved with little noise of feet, but 
there was occasional shouting to disturb the 
drowsy depths of any forests traversed. An am- 
bulance might creep along, a pale, tired, sick face 


412 


ON THE ROAD TO GETTYSBURG. 


looking out of it, or it would be empty of all 
occupants save the driver; and the very emptiness 
might painfully raise the question, “ What soldier 
now curiously staring at it, might soon be stretched 
out in it, moaning his life away?” The armjr 
wagons were heavy, cumbrous things, with spring- 
less axles, and would shake and jolt and tumble 
along. Perhaps one would break down, and then 
there might be a confusing block in the road — 
a mob of army wagons, men shouting, perhaps 
swearing, while some silent maledictions were sure 
to go toward the unlucky teamster so foolish as to 
take out that day a wagon which was destined 
to break down. 

In one of these melees you thought of war as 
a hell on foot, or hoof, or wheel. After a while 
this snarl would be disentangled, and the stupid, 
lumbering wagons would slowly go on again. As 
one thought of this army stretching along over 
weary, dusty miles of country road, he thought 
also of that second army — Lee’s. 

Where was that, with its miles of infantry and 
cavalry and baggage w r agons and ambulances and 
batteries ? That was toiling somewhere, winding 
and twisting with the road till it seemed like the 
folds of a great serpent that had uncoiled out of 
Virginia, twisted its way across the Potomac, and 
was now stretching, hydra-like, up through Mary- 
land into Pennsylvania. That army too had its 
abrupt halts, and its confusion and tumult of a 


ON THE ROAD TO GETTYSBURG. 


413 


blocking of wagons, where those hydra-folds would 
seem to twist inexplicably. Then all would be- 
come disentangled and straighten out, to wind 
on in orderly fashion till at some unexpected turn 
of the road it would entirely disappear, as if some 
loyal Titan rushing up, had let his sharp battle-ax 
fall upon its folds, completely severing them. 

After a while the hydra would come into view 
again, twisting over a hilltop, then in vanishing 
contortions dropping into a valley, yet ever wind- 
ing on and on. But where would this second 
army and the Union army meet and lock in deadly 
struggle ? It was a problem that not many cared 
to work down to its solution in actual slaughter, 
in blood and agony and death. 

A part of the tired yet persistent Union column 
that this chapter opened in the midst of, was a 
young officer leading about thirty men. Dust- 
covered, they seemed too tired to notice with in- 
terest anything in this long march. They did 
observe though, that the round red sun was 
almost touching a luxuriant bed of crimson cloud 
;in the west, and thought that their march might 
come to an end soon after that other traveler in 
the heavens was smothered in the clouds’ ample 
bedding. The tedious warmth of the day began 
to abate. The shadows stretched out refreshingly. 
The forest spaces looked still cooler and more 
restful. 

At last a sharp, ringing, “ Halt ! ” echoed down 


414 


ON THE IlOAD TO GETTYSBURG. 


the road, to be caught up and repeated by the 
young officer. “ Stack arms ! ” “ Unsling knap- 
sacks ! ” “ Break ranks ! ” he shouted. 

These commands were obeyed promptly. Guns 
were stacked quickly. Off went the knapsacks. 
Ranks were broken, and the soldiers scattered. 
Some threw themselves on the ground, crooked 
an arm under the head, and contentedly resting 
on his cheap home-made pillow, soon fell asleep. 
Others began to search for fuel. They were 
thinking of something to eat ; of a hasty cup of 
coffee, of a possible luxury like “ fried hard-tack,” 
the inevitable army biscuit cooked in pork. 

The halt had lasted half an hour, when the 
young officer strode off into the woods a short 
distance, tempted by the quiet recesses that were 
in such contrast with the bustle in the road. 

Suddenly he caught the sound of voices on the 
other side of a dense undergrowth. There is one 
kind of utterance which always awakens suspicion. 
It is a smooth, sly, insinuating, treacherous voice 
that may have nothing to do with you or you 
with it. Evil, though, shows a traitorous versatil- 
ity, and having made one turn yesterday, nobody 
can say how it will jump to-day. This sly, false 
voice suggests that you another time may be its 
point of attack. The officer behind that under- 
growth noticed this peculiarity of tone and 
inflection. 

a Another voice I hear,” he said, “ and better 


ON THE ROAD TO GETTYSBURG. 


415 


and much younger. The first I should say was 
about forty-five years old, and the second about 
twenty or so. Some difference. I don’t fancy 
the older voice. Did I ever hear it ? Don’t like 
to be an eavesdropper, but I think it is my duty 
to listen, for I caught something about deserting, 
didn’t I ? Hark ! ” 

The proprietor of the sly voice did not repeat 
any proposition definitely, but he proceeded to 
mention reasons for some course suggested, while 
his companion argued against it. 

“ You see, what’s the use of tryin’ to keep this 
thing up ? There is no tellin’ when the war will 
be over, or how it will come out. Here is Lee ; 
he’s a smart fellar. He’s got a big army, I tell 
ye!” 

“ How do you know ? ” 

“ Know ? I saw a reb the other day, and he 
told me.” 

“ But haven’t we a big army ? ” 

“Yes; but what do our generals amount to? 
Fust it is one at the head, and then another. Now 
it is Meade. What does he amount to ? ” 

“ Meade ? He is fine, they say.” 

“ What can he do ag’in’ Lee ? Lee will gobble 
us all up.” 

“ I don’t know about that. We may be the 
gobblers. Any way, we’ll give him a tussle. 
Ow-w ! ” 

“ What’s the matter ? ” 


416 


ON THE ROAD TO GETTYSBURG. 


“ Got a bit of flesh wound there in my foot, and 
it pains me sometimes.” 

“ And you walkin’ on it ? They’ll keep you 
walkin’ on it till ye are dead, trampin’ this way. 
They don’t know where Lee is, an’ will keep you 
marchin’.” 

Here came a pause, and then an open proposition 
to desert. 

“ I say, let’s slip off, you and me, in this fine 
country, and have a good time by ourselves.” 

“No; I’m for the Union. Don’t catch me 
skedaddling, if I have to limp into the fight — 
ow-w ! ” 

“ Oh ! come along.” 

“ I’ll stop that,” muttered the officer. “ I have 
heard enough of that malcontent’s talk.” 

He was springing forward to lay hands on the 
traitor when “ bang ! ” went a gun within ten feet 
of him. At first, he thought the traitor might 
have discovered him and read his secret intentions, 
and this shot was one aimed at him, and he had 
been hit. 

“Spared in battle only to be shot down by a 
cowardly assassin,” was his first thought. 

His second was, “ I am not hurt.” 

He rushed forward to arrest the would-be 
deserter, but the latter, in the confusion attend- 
ing that abrupt, mysterious discharge, had found 
an opportunity to leave. 

Only the younger soldier could be found, and 


ON THE ROAD TO GETTYSBURG. 


417 


he was at once surrounded by a dozen men who 
came rushing up from various quarters. 

“ What’s to pay ? ” asked a voice. 

“ Who fired that gun ? ” inquired a second. 

“ What’s going on ? ” asked a third. 

“ More than I know,” said the young soldier, 
who was seated on the ground, his form just 
discernible in the deepening dusk. 

“ Didn’t you fire that gun ? ” asked the officer 
who had been hiding behind the undergrowth. 

“ No, sir,” replied the young soldier positively. 

“ Who did, then ? ” 

“ Don’t know.” 

“ Didn’t the man talking with you fire it?” 

“ I don’t think he did. The firing was pretty 
near, though, and I thought it was on the other 
side of the bushes.” 

“Not on my side, for I was back of them. 
Where has that scamp gone? Find him, some- 
body ! Scour the woods with me ! He was talk- 
ing of deserting.” 

Nobody though could be found who was willing 
to be taken for a deserter, or who bore any re- 
semblance to one. Nor could anybody be found 
who bore any resemblance to a man who had made 
a proposition to desert. At last an interesting dis- 
covery was made ; that of a man who was willing 
to say he had fired off his gun, but the discharge 
was alleged to have been accidental. 

“ Don’t do it again,” was the injunction volun- 


418 


ON THE ROAD TO GETTYSBURG. 


teered by half a dozen, and then this part of the 
forest was abandoned to the young soldier and 
the officer who had overheard him. The former 
had kindled a little fire in an open place, and was 
crouching near it. The soldier’s camp fire ! His 
shifting tent is his home, his fire is the companion 
that brings him warmth, cooks his food, diverts 
his thoughts, cheers him in despondency, celebrates 
his victories, and never contradicts his moods. It 
is a most faithful, helpful attendant by day ; it is 
a big star in his night, never refusing to shine 
unless a dreary rain is drenching everything. 

As the young soldier watched his fire, the officer 
said, 44 Your voice sounds natural.” 

44 And so does yours, Cap’n,” remarked the 
soldier, who by the flash of his fire had caught a 
glance at the officer’s shoulder straps. 

44 What regiment? ” asked the captain. 

44 Maine, Company B.” 

44 Are — are you William Potwin ? ” 

44 I’m Bill Potwin. You — you Mr. Endicott? 
Cap’n ? ” 

44 I am the one. Give me your hand, William. 
You are a true man. I should have felt terribly 
if I had found it was you skulking off in the 
presence of the enemy.” 

44 1 had too good a teacher once to be false now,” 
said Bill, warmly returning Paul Endicott’s grasp. 
44 When I was talking with that feller, I thought 
of something you said once, Cap’n.” 


ON THE ROAD TO GETTYSBURG. 


419 


“ What was it?” 

Paul’s old scholar hesitated. 

“ What did you say, William ? ” 

“Oh! well, I don’t know as I had better 
speak of it.” 

“ Oh ! tell me, please.” 

“Well, it was that winter you taught school, 
and I was pretty downhearted and hadn’t been in 
very good marching trim, and you said, 4 There’s 
the making of a man in you.’ That helped me. 
I never forgot it.” 

“ That pleases me. I wish all scholars would 
remember what their teachers may have said to 
them.” 

“Ha, ha! P’raps they would if they had the 
same kind of a teacher.” 

There was an interchange of compliments which 
Paul interrupted to ask his old scholar if he knew 
who the man was that had proposed desertion to 
him. 

“ Don’t you know him ? ” 

“ No ; I — I don’t retain any recollection of 
him.” 

“That’s Carberry Boyd.” 

“ Carberry Boyd, Carberry Boyd ! Who is he ? ” 

“ Don’t you remember he kept a saloon, and was 
up before court, and — and ” — 

Instantly, Paul thought of the long winter skate 
on the river ice glistening in the moonlight. 

“ Was that Carberry Boyd ? ” 


420 


ON THE ROAD TO GETTYSBURG. 


“ That’s Carberry Boyd. He got a big bounty 
the time he enlisted and came into the army. I 
never saw him in the army before to-night.” 

“ What regiment does he belong to? ” 

“ I don’t know, Cap’n. He happened along 
when I was a-nursing my leg.” 

“ I dare say other of my old scholars are here.” 

“ Sylvester Dixon is. He is in the cavalry.” 

“ Just like Sylvester to enlist. And I am glad 
you are here. Now tell me, please, about your 
regiment ; where is it, William ? ” 

“ Don’t know, Cap’n. I want to find it if I can. 
You see, I’m just out of hospittle, and I knew 
there was a fight coming off, and my regiment 
had gone to it, and I wasn’t going to be left out of 
it if I did have a game leg. I’ve managed to 
hobble along thus far, sometimes getting a lift. 
I’m hoping to find my regiment somewhere.” 

“You are plucky. You come with me, please. 
I don’t know how long our halt will last, but I 
will see what can be done for you.” 

“ If I can get there, ’tis all I want.” 

To “ get there,” to get where the uncertain, 
mysterious Lee might be, meant a sad change in 
many a brave soldier’s prospects. What would it 
mean for Bill Potwin ? 

“ Jest let me lean on ye, Cap’n,” Bill was about 
to say. Then he checked his tongue, and silently, 
stiffly, limped forward the best way he could, which 
was almost his worst way. 



TALKING OVER OLD TIMES 








ON THE ROAD TO GETTYSBURG. 


421 


“ O, William ! don’t go alone. Let me help you. 
Lean on me,” said Paul quickly. 

They went off together, neither realizing that it 
was a representative act, neither appreciating how 
much an old scholar had been leaning on a 
teacher’s counsel during the interim of this their 
separation. 

“ I want to see, William, if I can’t get you a 
chance in an ambulance, or — in — something, so 
you won’t need to walk. Any way, I want you to 
take supper with me.” 

“ Thank you, Cap’n. I should be happy to.” 

Bill had already searched for rations in his 
haversack, and it was as disagreeably empty as a 
farmer’s loft of hay in early June. 

The officer and the soldier went back to the 
road together, the strong arm of the former 
supporting Bill Potwin. 

“ You — you’ve got the same strength you used 
to have in the gymnasium, Cap’n.” 

“I hope so, William.” 

“ Do you remember that sand bag you had in 
Hanscom’s barn ? ” 

“ O, yes ! ” 

“ I thought I should never get over that," when 
I had been a-hittin’ it the first time. My arms 
were lame and sore and all used up after using 
that. They felt as if they had been stepped on or 
run over.” 

“ I haven’t forgotten my gymnasium, and that 


422 


ON THE ROAD TO GETTYSBURG. 


you were my assistant. Hark ! what is that? 
After you have had your supper, I would like to 
hunt up an ambulance. Hark ! what is that?” 

A short distance away from them, a babel of 
sound came up out of the road. Some of the 
noise was simply hilarious. Men were good- 
naturedly shouting and then laughing. This was 
varied by tones sometimes angry, then coaxing 
and fawning. 

“ Come, come, boys, now come ! Be-have, I 
tell ye ! Come, come ! Now you know if you 
were in the business, you’d like decent treatment.” 

Then the voice changed into a peevish snarl. 

“ There, stop, I tell ye ! Now see here ; I’ll 
drive on and not sell ye a thing ” — 

“ Drive on ! ” challenged a voice. 

Daylight would have shown that this challenger 
was one of half a dozen holding back the man's 
mules. 0 

“ A sutler ! ” observed Bill. “ I guess they’re 
plaguin’ him.” 

“ Undoubtedly.” 

Capt. Endicott and Bill Potwin stepped forward 
to see the crowd around a sutler’s cart. 

Sutlers were licensed to follow an army with 
their wagons and wares, and permitted to sell to 
any soldiers who might be disposed to buy. 

The temptation before the sutler was to sell at 
extravagant prices, and whoever fell before the 
temptation was not forgotten by the soldiers. 


ON THE ROAD TO GETTYSBURG. 


423 


The sutler now in the road had conceived a 
hope that he might drive a brisk trade with a 
throng of hungry customers at supper time. He 
had therefore brought his mules to a halt. 

That he might display his goods and promptly 
make change, he had lighted his big lantern. His 
customers were tempted to buy a little and tease 
a good deal. 

One of his attractions was a small quantity of 
cherries. Gladly would he have disposed of these 
at a great bargain to himself. In some way, these 
pulpy goods had been upset, and there was a great 
scramble for them. This amount of fun and also 
fruit had made the crowd goodnatured. The 
same occasion, though, may be to different parties 
like the ancient tithing man’s rod, which had two 
differently equipped ends ; a hard, primitive one 
for an offending boy in meeting-time, but a soft, 
persuasive one, like that of a fox’s tail, for a 
sleeping girl. 

The sutler had felt the hard end of the pole. 
Still he was trying to hold on to some remnant of 
his good temper, which almost had been put to 
flight by the sad and sudden loss of so many 
cherries. His tormentors now pretended to be 
customers. 

“ Say, you Shylock,” cried out a soldier, “ what 
do you ask for them stockings I see in there ? ” 

“ One dollar,” said the sutler persuasively. 

“ For the lot? I’ll take ’em.” 


424 


ON THE ROAD TO GETTYSBURG. 


“ A pair,” said the sutler, in the same persuasive 
tones. “ They’re as good stockin’s as were ever 
made in the State of Maine. Hand-made, right 
on the old farm ; none of your imported things. 
Home-made, you know ; none of your foreign 
stuff.” 

“ Ho, ho ! ” cried a voice. “ They come from 
way Down East. Jest think. Don’t doubt but 
that the stockin’s are good, but the price is bad.” 

“ They’re big enough to suit an Amazon,” said 
a soldier. 

“Shylock,” cried another, “you ought to try 
’em on fust yourself. They’ll jest fit your — head, 
I should say.” 

The sutler’s head was bare; over it one of his 
customers tried to pull an enormous stocking leg. 

“It’s a good-sized calf covered there,” remarked 
a soldier on the outer edge of the crowd. 

The}^ all roared at this. 

When Paul came up, he said : 

“ Come, boys, you have had enough of this. 
Let the team pass on. Now, sir, if you’ll drive on ; 
and, boys, be easy.” 

The sutler had set his lantern on an empty 
butter-firkin in his heavy wagon, but turning at 
the sound of a friendly voice, he lifted the lantern 
and asked : 

“ Who — who is this ? Haven’t I heard that 
familiar voice afore ? Do tell ! , ’Tain’t Mr. 
Render — I mean Gin’ral Rendercut ? ” 


ON THE ROAD TO GETTYSBURG. 


425 


“ Thank you, Mr. Baker ! for I think it is my 
old acquaintance, Mr. Baker ” — 

“ Miles Baker, same as ever ; alters round, from 
the State of Maine, away Down East, and proud 
to be ’kwainted,” cried Miles, bowing profoundly 
but awkwardly. “ Merit’s bound to rise, like my 
yeast, Gin’ral.” 

Here, as if to illustrate his point, Miles rose up 
suddenly, bumping his head against the roof of 
his big wagon. Stoically making no complaint he 
continued: 

“ I shall tell Amanday I saw ye, Gin’ral ” — 

“ I am only a captain, thank you.” 

“ But he oughter be, boys,” replied Miles, ap- 
pealing to the boys in blue. 

“ That’s so,” cried one, then another. 

“ ’Tain’t allers merit that gits the right shoulder 
straps,” urged Miles, delighted with the favorable 
turn matters had taken. 

“Hurrah for Gin’ral Endicott!” rang out a 
voice. 

The men were cheering, for they were fond of 
their captain, who was always the first in at any 
fight and the last to get out of it ; the first to take 
up any campaign hardship, and the last to leave it 
behind ; a leader, and yet a sympathetic comrade. 

“Yes, Gin’ral Endercut, my old friend,” cried 
Miles, bowing once more, “ I haven’t forgotten 
the time when you pulled my nose off back of the 
jedge’s barn ” — 


426 


ON THE ROAD TO GETTYSBURG. 


“ Twig it ag’in,” shouted a voice. 

The crowd was roaring in its merriment, but 
the orator was delighted with the proof of his 
power. 

44 I shall tell Amanday,” he resumed, “ I shall 
tell ” — 

44 Thank you ; let me help you,” said the young 
captain, nervously anxious to get the sutler off, 
but Miles now had the platform, and was not 
going to step off from it in a hurry. He wished 
to show that a sutler even might be acquainted 
with distinguished people. 

“ Come, now ! ” he cried, 44 I beg your pardon for 
forgittin’ to ax. How’s — how’s — Mis’ Gin’ral 
Rendercut ? ” 

The crowd enjoyed this, and the captain did not, 
but goodnaturedly he did not stand on his dignity, 
and he mildly urged Miles forward. 

Miles felt that his day was not over. In spite 
of proofs to the contrary, he had never ceased to 
believe that he was naturally gifted with an elo- 
quent speech, and he wanted to try it on his 
audience, but some one limped forward, crying, to 
the comfort of Paul : 

44 Here, Miles ! Don’t you know me ? ” 

44 What, bless my stars ! This ain’t Billy Potwin 
I used to sell candy to ” — 

44 The very one,” said a soldier. 

44 And made a big profit on it,” said a second. 

44 Titus-es own brother ! Why, how — how — 


ON THE ROAD TO GETTYSBURG. 


427 


how ” — here Miles began to wring Bill’s hand as 
if it were a thick fold of blanket just out of Mon- 
day’s washtub — 44 how are ye ? Goin’ to be a 
sojer ? Troo bloo, fust and last ; loves the flag ” — 

Paul saw his opportunity. While Miles was 
busily wringing clothes and cracking the bones in 
Bill Potwin’s hand, 44 Gin’ral Rendercut ” slipped 
forward to the sutler’s mules and vigorously 
started them up. 

44 Wo-ho ! Hysh, there ! ” shouted Miles, rush- 
ing forward frantically. 

44 All right here, Mr. Baker. Just getting you 
out of the crowd. Look out for the things 
behind.” 

44 Now, Mister — Gin’ral — Cap’n — if this ain’t 
a pleasure. I shall tell Amanday ” — 

Paul’s men in the rear caught this name again, 
and were' now loudly giving a last testimonial to 
the sutler in the shape of 44 Three cheers for 
Amanday ! ” 

The team continued to roll heavily on, and Paul 
was at liberty to detail to Miles a plan that had 
just suggested itself to him. 

44 Mr. Baker, here’s William Potwin! He has 
shown himself a true hero, and is bound to follow 
the army and find his regiment, but he has a very 
weak foot. Can’t you give him a lift ? ” 

44 Sartin, sartin ! Billy, jump right in ; I think 
I will keep a-movin’. Goin’ to be patriotic, if 
nothin’ more.” 


428 


ON THE EOAD TO GETTYSBURG. 


If Miles had told the whole truth, he would 
have confessed that he meant to improve this op- 
portunity of a chance sojourn in Pennsylvania, 
and let the army go back to Virginia without him. 
He could sell his goods in Quaker-land, and sell 
his wagon too, and then he would “ take the cars 
for hum and Amanday ! ” 

This in confidence he had told Miles Baker 
repeatedly, and he had complacently nodded and 
dreamed over this secret purpose. Subsequently, 
he carried out this plan and went back to his trade 
in groceries, and to a life of fault-finding with the 
Government, and daily abuse of it. Just now, on 
the outside, he was one blaze of patriotic fire. 

“Jump in, Billy! We will drive the rebels 
afore us. Gin ’em Hail, Columby ! Yes, we 
will.” 

Then he laughed. 

“ Ha, ha ! Gin’ral — Cap’n. I — I — I’ve got an 
armed guard now. In with ye, Bill.” 

The thought of “ an armed guard ” tickled 
Miles, and he shook again and again with laughter. 
Another thought afforded him satisfaction. At 
the present time he had no driver, and he resolved 
to work Bill in as charioteer. 

“ Sorry not to share rations with you to-night, 
William,” said Paul, “ but you had better improve 
this chance.” 

“ Oh ! ” Said Bill, “ I’ll get something.” 

Paul quietly slipped a currency note of war- 


ON THE ROAD TO GETTYSBURG. 


429 


times into Miles’s hand, and whispered a request 
that Miles would feed Bill. 

Before Bill climbed up into the rude seat of the 
driver, he spoke in a low tone to Paul Endicott : 

“ Cap’n, if I don’t see you again, I want to 
thank you for your kindness. P’raps you may 
want to know what made me enlist — or me and 
Sylvester Dixon, for we were together. Do you 
remember one day in the old schoolhouse you 
gave us a talk about our country, and the Flag 
of the Free ? ” 

“ I — don’t remember just now, but it may 
come to me.” 

“ Well, you said some folks under the flag were 
not free, and if we could help them we must. 
When Sylvester and me enlisted — we signed the 
same day — that’s what fixed us — what you said. 
That decided us. And I want to tell you another 
thing. You remember Sammy Hanscom, don’t 
you ? I knew you would. He thoughts heap 
of you.” 

Bill here paused. He was thinking of a boy’s 
grave in a far Northern State, and not far from a 
blue river. Before he left home for the war, he 
knelt by that grave and told God that with his 
help Bill Potwin would not do a mean thing or go 
back on his word to his country and his God. 

He did not mention this to Paul, but as Bill 
spoke, he could see the blue river, the boy-grave 
not far off, and some one kneeling by it. 


430 


ON THE HOAD TO GETTYSBURG. 


He spoke again : 

“ When I was in the hospittle, one night, and 
thought I was a-goin’ to die, Sammy came to me — 
yes, he did ; smiled, you know, and beckoned up, 
and that has helped me. When I’m inclined to 
do wrong, I see him a-beckonin’ up. I take it too 
as a kind of sign that I sha’n’t get home, but what 
if I don’t ? That hand a-beckonin’ seems to say 
t’other world ain’t so far off, and God is there, and 
Sammy — but good-by, Cap’n ! We will see each 
other when the battle begins and — if — if we 
don’t ” — 

Here Paul’s hand was squeezed hard. With- 
out another word, Bill climbed into the sutler’s 
wagon. 

“Git up, there!” shouted Miles. “Good-by, 
Cap’n ! Goin’ to do my duty.” 

“ Good-by, and good-by, William ! ” 

“ Good-by, Cap’n ! ” 

The heavy wheels groaned and then turned 
wearily, all the heavy structure above them shaking 
and creaking. 

Once the wheels faltered before an obstruction, 
but quickly crashed over it, continuing to grind 
their hard, rough way on to — what ? To what, 
was Bill Potwin going ? 

Paul Endicott and his men were not obliged to 
resume their march for a number of hours, and 
this gave them a much-needed rest. Wrapped in 
his soldier’s coat, lying on the ground, looking 


ON THE ROAD TO GETTYSBURG. 


431 


up at the stars, Paul’s mind wandered back to the 
old schooldays. 

How gratifying the thought that he had had a 
hand in directing the course of Bill Potwin and 
Sylvester Dixon, even as a valley determines the 
flow of a river. 

“ Good pay ! ” he murmured. “ I used to think 
that my compensation in those days was scant. 
It is coming in now.” 

Had he reached any other scholars ? Did others 
remember him and feel his influence? He went 
in thought to the scene of his old labors. He 
passed along the broad, silent street. He walked 
under the stooping, arching elms. He heard the 
water murmuring over its shallow bed under the 
bridge, a gentle song of content never hushed in 
the coldest weather. In the street he passed peo- 
ple whom he knew and to whom in fancy he bowed. 
Did they see him? They did not return his salu- 
tation, nor even give him a look ! He went into 
Miles Baker’s store and heard Amanda “Baker 
foolishly simpering before Titus Potwin, and 
caught Titus’s gruff “ Haw-haw ! ” He even said, 
“ How do you do ? ” They paid no attention to 
him, as if they neither saw nor heard him. How 
could they know he was there ? 

Little did they think that the thoughts of Paul 
Endicott were in town. There they were, though 
his body was stretched out under a far-off Penn- 
sylvania pine. This spirit-visitant continued his 


432 


ON THE ROAD TO GETTYSBURG. 


ramble. He looked in at people’s windows, 
taking liberties he never would have ventured 
upon if present in the flesh. He knocked at 
people’s doors, like a mischievous schoolboy, and 
went away laughing. Opening Simon Hanscom’s 
door, he stepped in unbidden, and strode boldly 
out into Samantha’s kitchen. He even reached 
out his hand to her, but she extended no hand to 
him. She only held out a kind of pie-tongs, and 
with it took a big pumpkin pie from her oven. It 
was the cookery that the schoolmaster loved. If 
the body under a Pennsylvania pine, nourished by 
army rations and sutlers’ goods, could have only 
had a piece of Samantha Hanscom’s pie ! 

“ Simon ! ” he heard Samantha say, “ is there 
any news from the war to-day ? ” 

“ Yas,” he heard Simon reply, from a closet 
where he was eating a quarter of pumpkin pie, 
“ it’s gittin’ excitin’, they say at the hotel. The 
rebs are up in Pennsylvania, they say, and our 
folks are arter ’em.” 

“ Good ! I hope they’ll ketch ’em and gin it 
to ’em good.” 

“ I’d give most anything, Samanthy, if I was 
ten years younger. I want a hand in it, wust 
kind. Oh! I’ve seen this war a-comin’. The 
hand of God is in it. These poor blacks ” — 

Here Simon came out of the closet and shook 
his head : “ God will lead them out into a land of 
liberty.” 


ON THE ROAD TO GETTYSBURG. 


488 


“ If ever I wanted to be a man, Simon, ’tis now,” 
cried Samantha, rising from her efforts, flushed and 
panting. “ They say Bill Potwin’s a-doin’ well.” 

Here Paul interjected a thought. “ Wonder if 
they think of me ! ” 

If there may have been any thought, there was 
no expression. 

Simon spoke now, wiping his spectacles before 
he began to read a paper to Samantha. 

“ Goin’ to be a big fight,” he said. “ Lots of 
poor fellars will ketch it.” 

“Yes, yes,” murmured Samantha, and wiped 
her eyes and sniffled. 

“ Good-by ! ” shouted Paul. 

They did not mind him, and he left. Then Paul 
went down to the other end of the village. Near- 
ing Judge Alton’s, he thought of Carberry Boyd, 
whom Paul had heard speaking that very evening. 
With the thought of Carberry Boyd, came a change 
in nature. The air strangely cooled. The hazy 
stars sharpened. Their beauty flashed outm clear, 
white, cold outline. Under Paul’s feet was hard, 
firm ice, and it sparkled in the moonlight. 

Paul was skating up the mystic, glassy river. 
It was a warm night down in Pennsylvania, but 
the body under the old pine more than once folded 
the soldier’s coat closer to the breast, for the soul 
up in Maine was chilly. Paul left the ice stiff 
and cramped, and unstrapping his skates, walked 
through the meadows toward the Alton mansion. 


434 


ON THE ROAD TO GETTYSBURG. 


Did Annie Alton — Alcestis — know that he was 
so near ? Did she come to the window and say, 
“ My dear old teacher ! Have you come back ? 
I love you dearly.” 

She was sitting up that very night into a late 
hour, reading about the latest war movements. 
She was aware that Paul Endicott had been in 
the army some time ; that when the war broke out 
during his senior year in college, he could not 
wait until he had graduated, but in a regiment 
from another State enlisted at once. 

“ I think you are very noble, Mr. Endicott,” she 
murmured this very evening, as she sat thinking 
of friends in the army. “ Yes ; I wish — wish ” — 

Wish what, Alcestis ? 

“ Wish I could see ” — 

See whom? You were always very successful, 
Alcestis, in publicly hiding your feelings. See 
— him ? Did she rise and go to a window looking 
out upon the lawn? No; for she did not know 
that in thought he was standing that very moment 
out in the road, looking up at her window and 
wondering if a light were there. 

The light was there, in reality. Why did not 
Alcestis come to the window, and her face in all 
its beauty pityingly glance at her old teacher in 
the lonely road ? 

Thus far away were Paul Endicott’s thoughts 
from the body crouching under a Pennsylvania 
pine, but the body had control of those fugitives. 


ON THE ROAD TO GETTYSBURG. 


435 


When the shrill, echoing cry of a bugle rang up 
and down that Pennsylvania forest road, Paul 
promptly sprang upon his feet as if only a piece 
of machinery responding to the touch of an elec- 
tric button, and flying up to do its bidding. 

Then came in a little while several hurried 
commands. 

“ Fall in, fall in ! ” at last rang down the dewy 
road. “ March ! ” 

Captain Paul Endicott gave his share of these 
morning orders. As the sunlight in a flood poured 
over the eastern hilltops, there was a repetition of 
yesterday’s style of campaigning. There were offi- 
cers shouting, and men promptly tramping, while 
somewhere on the road could be heard the clank of 
cavalry equipments, and the harsh, stupid jolting 
and rumbling of he^vy wagons. 

In just that way Lee’s army was somewhere 
tramping on. Those great monster-folds were 
twisting and turning, struggling forward, south- 
ward, eastward, anywhere to find Meade and throw 
themselves upon him, gripping and strangling. 

Out of this deadly encounter and struggle 
would Paul Endicott, Bill Potwin and Sylvester 
Dixon come unharmed ? Miles Baker and Car- 
berry Boyd were likely to escape without injury. 
They would survive the war, and would live to 
tell what they had dared and suffered for their 
country’s sake. 

But what of Paul and Bill and Sylvester ? 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

GETTING HEADY FOR THE BATTLE. 

I T was awful, the grand Confederate charge at 
Gettysburg ! No other adjective could so well 
describe it — awful. All the world, too, seemed 
to be looking on. This made conspicuous the 
awfulness ; lifted it clear up, away up, into a 
prominence it never could have had otherwise. 

The Union army at Gettysburg w'as strongly 
posted on high land, and all the Confederate efforts 
to dislodge them had failed. The third day of 
battle came. Gen. Lee, the Confederate general, 
determined to do the last thing, as it seemed to 
him, that could be done — assault the Union army 
in its present strong position. That part of the 
Union line stretching across Cemetery Hill was 
selected as the point of attack. If that line could 
be ruptured there, our forces rolled back, a crown 
of Confederate cannon given to Cemetery Hill, 
the rest could be easily anticipated. 

Gettysburg then would be a glorious prize in the 
436 


GETTING READY FOR THE BATTLE. 487 


shadow of the proud Confederate banners. But 
— that point of attack, Cemetery Hill, was a very 
hard, pugnacious, stubborn point. It frowned and 
bristled with cannon. Then there were the field- 
stones that piled up in times of peace to divide the 
land, had become in war a rampart of the Union. 
Behind this rampart was another defense, even 
warm, brave, strong hearts loyal to the Union. 
Could all these defenses of Cemetery Hill be suc- 
cessfully stormed and swept away ? Gen. Lee 
was resolved to try. Fresh Confederate troops 
were expected. This inundation of hostile strength 
was to be turned upon Cemetery Hill, and if pos- 
sible, it would flood and overwhelm it. 

It was July 3 that this assault was to be made, 
and close at hand was the nation’s holiday. What 
an inauguration of the grand, national festival ; 
not the notes of bells ringing in the church steeples, 
and the crack of torpedoes and the report of pis- 
tols down in the streets, but the snarl of the war 
drums and the angry thunder of cannon on the 
field of battle ! The Fourth would come on Sat- 
urday, and what a Black Friday preceded it ! 
Thursday night, though, a magnificent moon hung 
its silver lantern up in the sky to guide both 
armies in any work of preparation for Friday. 
The Confederates were anticipating very hard and 
serious work. 

They were replenishing their stock of ammuni- 
tion, locating their batteries, feeding and watering 


438 GETTING READY FOR THE BATTLE. 


their horses and replacing the dead and wounded 
animals with fresh ones. There was hurrying to 
and fro, and it all meant bloody strife on the 
coming day. The moon, though, looked benefi- 
cently down, shedding its snow-like luster on the 
stretching fields and the rising slopes, on the dead 
still unburied, on the wounded moaning still in the 
fields, on the strong and able-bodied hurrying up 
the grim preparations for battle. 

Morning came. 

There were birds to sing their fresh, sweet songs 
of peace. The new sun looked with a face of bless- 
ing upon Gettysburg and those two great armies 
with long, frowning, opposing ranks. 

Gen. Lee came riding on his horse, and gave 
orders to Gen. Alexander for the assault on Cem- 
etery Hill. Gen. Alexander had charge of a 
section of the Confederate artillery. In his com- 
mand were war-dogs that were to be unleashed and 
let loose upon Cemetery Hill. 

This was the start of the programme — an 
artillery duel. Two guns were to be fired by the 
Confederate Washington Artillery as soon as the 
infantry column for the attack might be ready. 
At the barking of this signal, all the Confederate 
artillery was to growl, and then make as wild and 
furious an uproar as possible. 

They were to aim their shot at Cemetery Hill, 
and a ridge extending to a hill known as Round 
Top. 


GETTING READY FOR THE BATTLE. 439 


The Union batteries were thick, but the Con- 
federate artillery was ambitious, and meant to 
break down and silence that line of Union cannon. 
When the strength of this line might have been 
crumbled away, then the storming column of the 
Confederates was to move out. This was to be 
led by Gen. Pickett’s division, reinforced by two 
other divisions commanded by Generals Pettigrew 
and Trimble. It is generally known as Pickett’s 
charge, though others were associated with him. 

During the forenoon of Friday there was a roar 
of guns, occasioned by a fight over a barn, but it 
was a chance preliminary, and not the ominous, 
deliberate firing of those signal cannon. 

The forenoon roar ceased. There were the 
grim, black war-hounds crouching and ready to 
bay, but under the peaceful July sun, up and 
down the valleys and slopes of Gettysburg, what 
silence ! It was ominous. That peaceful sun 
continued to shine, raining down its splendor as 
quietty as if no cloud of battle would ever rise up 
to hide its glory in the sky. But the cloud was to 
roll up as if out of the mouth of an old-time hell. 

Behind the batteries, on the opposing hills, 
hostile ranks were waiting. Behind stone walls 
soldiers were crouching, their guns within an arm’s 
reach. In the woods armed men lay prostrate, 
simply waiting. All this silent watching, por- 
tended action. It was a tarrying for something 
horrible to begin, and something sure to begin. 


440 GETTING READY FOR THE BATTLE. 

Cemetery Hill had been marked for the assault, 
as much so as if the Confederate general had 
dipped his finger in blood and traced a big red 
mark adown those slopes and said : 

“ This is the place. You rush for that! ” 

When would the order to charge be given? 
Amid the mounds of the village dead in the once 
orderly cemetery, were posted the surly cannon, 
but they were as silent as those forms sleeping 
beneath them. It was one of war’s pauses, seem- 
ingly empty, but filled up with a terrible intent. 

The pause was protracted. The sun still shone 
down unclouded. No smoke arose to tarnish its 
luster. It was past noon, and still descended from 
the sun the blessing of its peace. There was the 
silence of rest, the sense of waiting. 

Pickett’s division had early arrived at their 
designated halting-point. They had broken their 
fast, some of them for the last time. They had 
been resting ; many of them would soon take a 
longer, even an unbroken rest. They were chat- 
ting and laughing, but in the neighborhood of 
what horrors ! 

But where were those signal guns ? Men 
crouching, waiting by their weapons here and 
there, looked up, listened excitedly and wondered 
when the cannon would give the gruff word to 
begin the fight again. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


THE GRAND CONFEDERATE CHARGE. 

I T was in the lull of waiting on Cemetery Hill 
that Paul Endicott heard a step nearing him. 
“ Ah, William, that you? ’’said Paul, turning. 
“ I didn’t know that I should find you again. Glad 
to see you.” 

“ It’s me, Cap’n,” said Bill, hobbling up eagerly, 
saluting, soldier fashion. “ I can’t find my regi- 
ment. I’m glad to find you.” 

“ Stay with my men, William. We are waiting 
for the enemy to do something. Keep near me.” 

“ That’s just what I would like. Nothin’ could 
be better.” 

Bill leaned on his musket, and, side by side 
with Paul, looked off upon the battlefield. 

The men in Paul Endicott’s company were 
crouching behind a stone wall, against which they 
had leaned their muskets, and so were waiting for 
the opening of the savage fight. 

“ That’s an interesting sight,” remarked Bill to 
441 


442 THE GRAND CONFEDERATE CHARGE. 

his old teacher. “ Yon and me, Cap’n, are going 
to stand up for the folks at home.” 

“ Do you suppose they are thinking of us ? ” 

“ I don’t believe your old scholars have forgotten 
you.” 

“ Do you think so ? I often think of them. 
Sylvester is somewhere near us.” 

“Is he? Your scholars thought a lot of you,^ 
Cap’n. We bothered you at first, but we all fell 
into line and marched after you. I used to think 
one time the girls liked you best, but we boys, I 
believe, didn’t fall behind at last ” — 

“ You were all very kind to me, William. That 
was my first school, and I was pretty crude at it.” 

“ O, no ! ” asserted Bill, paying back with 
interest the kindly look his old teacher gave him. 
“Do you remember Sammy Hanscom?” 

“ O, yes ! ” 

“ He liked you. I would like to see the little 
chap. Do you think he knows we are here ? ” 

“ He can easily find out if he wishes to do so. 
The angels are only messengers, and they would 
take him word if he wants it.” 

“I never thought of that. It’s quite an idee, 
Cap’n,” said the delighted Bill. 

“He was very fond of you, William. How 
your words carry me back to the old school ! We 
must do our best to-day for them, William.” 

“ I reckon, Cap’n ! ” exclaimed Bill, setting his 
teeth determinedly. 


THE GRAND CONFEDERATE CHARGE. 443 


Then there came a space of silence, and side by 
side, both crouching on the ground now, they 
looked down into the Valley of Death. 

For the boys and girls of other days, master 
and scholars were determined to do their best on 
Cemetery Hill at Gettysburg. 

“ Do you remember Annie Alton, Cap’n ? ” asked 
Bill suddenly. 

“ O, yes ! ” said Paul. 

“ A nice gal, Cap’n.” As he spoke, Bill watched 
the master’s face closely, saying to himself, “ I 
used to think he liked Annie.” 

“ A very good girl,” replied Paul with dignity, 
the color flushing his face. 

“ I used to think she liked you, Cap’n.” 

“ I wish her well,” said Paul, trying to speak 
with unconcern. 

“ God help her if the cap’n’s killed in the battle 
that is cornin’,” thought Bill, still watching the 
captain’s face. 

Paul only added, “ We will do our best to-day 
for all the boys and girls, William.” 

“I reckon,” Bill again declared. To himself 
he said, “ And in behalf of the boys and gals, I’ll 
look after the captain.” 

And the captain said : 

“ I’ll have an eye out for this brave fellow 
hobbling into the fight. What made him say that 
about Annie Alton ? I winder if she is thinking 
of her old teacher ? ” 


4^4 THE GRAND CONFEDERATE CHARGE. 

Instantly flashed into Paul’s thought the face of 
Alcestis as she looked that night of the spelling 
school, when across the buzzing, unsympathetic 
spectators her beautiful eyes sent him that assur- 
ance of pity and friendship. 

The eyes of Alcestis went with the master into 
the fight, and her soul seemed to be throbbing 
' within his breast. 

It was now almost one o’clock at Gettysburg. 
The ominous waiting in the Valley of Death and 
along the hillsides sloping down to it, still 
continued. 

One o’clock came, a fatal pendulum stroke. 

Suddenly, a gun manned by the Washington 
Artillery on the Confederate side, sent out a crash- 
ing roar. How it shattered all the stillness, that 
one gun ! 

A short delay, and another ponderous boom 
echoed across the valley. It was the expected, 
yet dreaded signal. 

And now what a turmoil ! Boom — boom ! 
crash — crash ! roar — roar-r-r ! One hundred and 
thirty-eight guns were thundering on the Con- 
federate side, and from the heights opposite these, 
derisively roared the Union guns. And what a 
deafening chorus from all those war-monsters — 
over two hundred, on both sides — now crashing 
away ! The heavens were not only shaken, but 
seemed torn and shattered by these furious dis- 
charges. The heavy, lurid, angry clouds of smoke 


THE GRAND CONFEDERATE CHARGE. 445 


rolled upward and hid that peacefully shining 
sun. 

There were fresh discharges, fresh uproar, fresh 
tumult. Some of the Union guns ceased firing. 
It was thought that the hour was timely for the 
Confederate advance. 

Gen. Longstreet was Gen. Pickett’s superior 
officer, and to the former Pickett looked for the 
final order. Gen. Longstreet has declared that he 
did not approve of the proposed assault, but felt 
that he must obey Lee’s orders. 

Pickett came up on horseback to know if he 
should lead his waiting men forward. Longstreet 
was fully aware that this charge promised no gain 
to the Confederate cause. Blood prodigally 
wasted would be the cost, and naught would 
come to the spendthrift. Pickett repeated his 
question to Longstreet. How much depended on 
an answer ! How many lives were waiting to 
hear their solemn destiny announced ! 

Longstreet was silent, but bowed his head. On 
that simple movement of the head, what grave 
results all hinged. The issue of thousands of 
lives swung fine way or the other as Longstreet 
bowed, and they swung — deathward. 

“ Sir, I shall lead my division forward,” said 
Pickett, whose place was to obey, not to expos- 
tulate. 

Off he rode, and Destiny and Death rode with 
him. 


446 THE GRAND CONFEDERATE CHARGE.. 


Before we follow him in his advance, let us be 
sure that we get hold of the exact position of 
affairs. On one side, recall that long swell of land 
known as Seminary Ridge, and remember that the 
Confederate batteries were posted there. Over 
against that high land was that other sweep of 
upland with various summits, named Culp’s Hill, 
Cemetery Hill, Little Round Top, Round Top, 
held by the Union forces. 

It was the Confederate aim, as already declared, 
to break through the Union line at Cemetery Hill, 
smash that defense, fritter it all away, and then 
rolling back upon itself the Union army, over- 
whelm it — annihilate it. 

It was a bold ambition. 

Doubtless the circumstances justified to Lee’s 
mind this assault, and a council of war sustained 
him. Through a depression in the ridge of Cem- 
etery Hill, passed a road, and the Confederates 
thought the place weak and an assault hopeful. It 
was not a hope well-based. What did the charge 
actually mean? It meant that human blood would 
flow as cheap and profuse as water. It meant 
grave-mound upon grave-mound. It not only 
meant an end of this life to thousands of men, but 
the blackness of sorrow in tens of thousands of 
homes. 

Lee was an able general, but Gettysburg was 
his great mistake. He sincerely regretted the 
charge in after days. 


THE GRAND CONFEDERATE CHARGE. 447 


Recalling the two ridges, we now get a vivid 
picture of the country between them. From Semi- 
nary Ridge, with, its ugly row of Confederate bat- 
teries, to Cemetery Hill with its iron Union war- 
dogs, stretched an undulating surface bright with 
summer verdure. In its innocence and peace, it 
lay open to the benediction of the July sun. It 
was of a varied nature, green pasture-land or a 
surface rustling with wheat-blades, or topped by 
the stalks of the waving corn. 

A spectator standing on Seminary Ridge and 
looking down upon the contemplated field of 
battle, spoke of woods in front and on the right. 
The land gradually dipped, and then rose again, 
climbing up, up to the Union soldiers now pros- 
trate, gun in hand, behind stone walls or ridges of 
land. Then the slope went climbing higher, to the 
powerful and pitiless batteries. 

Would Pickett and the other Confederate officers 
cross with their forces this green valley and reach 
that ridge? One Southern general — Wright — 
summed up the possible and the impossible when 
he said : 

“ It is not so hard to go there as it looks. I 
was nearly there with my brigade yesterday. The 
trouble is to stay there. The whole Yankee army 
is there in a bunch.” 

But Pickett was moving. 

Looking upon Seminary Ridge Paul Endicott 
and Bill Potwin had made out the first advance — a 


448 THE GRAND CONFEDERATE CHARGE. 

line of skirmishers springing out of the woods. 
“ They are cornin’, Cap’n ! ” cried Bill. 

Paul nodded his head, and saw the eyes of 
Alcestis sending him their sympathy and strength- 
ening his brave purpose. 

Then other troops appeared. There was a 
swarm of Confederates coming over the crest, 
uniformed in gray. 

It was a long line of battle quickly formed. A 
second followed, and then a third. They swept 
forward with the regularity of waves moving to- 
ward an angry shore. 

At the head of his troops Pickett was gallantly 
riding. He wore his cap nonchalantly and defi- 
antly on one side of his head. His auburn hair 
was long and almost swept his shoulders. He was 
proudly riding to — victory ? To glory, certainly, 
but the other terminus was not assured. 

Rank upon rank, came the men in gray. They 
marched with steady, unflinching step. In their 
movement they showed the promptness and pre- 
cision of veterans. It was admiringly contem- 
plated by friend and foe. It thrilled every spec- 
tator. The bayonets of the Confederates glistened 
in the sun. Their colors borne firmly, went on 
proudly. It was the advance of brave, daring 
men. On swept these strong, impetuous waves 
of war. How far would they flow ? Far extending 
could be seen the men ordered to join Pickett’s, 
and co-operate with them. 


THE GRAND CONFEDERATE CHARGE. 449 


One Southern general, Garnett, wore .an old 
blue overcoat buttoned up that July day. He 
was just out of the sick ambulance, but he now 
charged at the head of his brigade. It was his 
last ride. After the long lines of infantry went 
the rattling, jumping, jolting gun-carriages, to give 
firmness of support, backbone, to wavering col- 
umns, and if possible victory to the bloody charge. 

What an imposing sight it all was ! The coun- 
try was so open, the men in that forward move- 
ment so numerous, that everything was brought 
into an imposing prominence. How many wit- 
nessed all this ! All the North and all the South 
seemed to be on the two opposing ridges, and how 
intently they looked down ! Women with clasped 
hands and faces deadly pale, children frightened 
and clinging to young mothers’ skirts, decrepit 
old fathers and mothers, seemed to stand on those 
heights, and, their hearts fluttering, they tearfully 
watched everything. 

The men and women who write a nation’s his- 
tory and those who make its songs and tell of 
its heroic deeds, seemed to be there, pen in hand, 
to take everything down ; and above all, there 
leaned over Heaven’s wall the recording angel, to 
take down the sad, dark story. 

Now let the eye seize upon and follow that ad- 
vancing wave of Southern infantry, pouring down 
into and across the valley, rank upon rank, gray 
coat after gray coat, banners 'flaunting in the sun, 


450 THE GRAND CONFEDERATE CHARGE. 


bayonets flashing, one long, far-extending billow 
rolling on to sweep up the opposite slope and, if 
possible, sweep over it. 

When the Confederate troops had been pouring 
between the Confederate batteries on Seminary 
Ridge, the guns of the latter were dumb, but soon 
broke out in one fierce, furious roar, hurling their 
ponderous shot over the heads of the Confederate 
infantry. This one long, flaming, smoking, shat- 
tering outburst of shot and shell was most impos- 
ing as witnessed from the Union side, and might 
well have been described as the indescribable. 
When the Confederate infantry had spread out on 
the plain, then all the Union batteries broke out 
in defiant and repeated thunder, sending out in 
crashing masses their shot and shell. It is the 
estimate of one Union officer that the Union front 
“ for two miles was covered by batteries already 
in line or going into position.” 

Think of the volcanic energy with which that 
iron front belched its fatal flame and hurled its 
deadliest missiles ! Their target was that defiant 
wave of Southern soldiery advancing across the 
plain. The distance between the two heights has 
been estimated by one writer to be fourteen hun- 
dred yards. Another, and a Southerner, speaking 
of the Union fire and the distance, says : 

“It seemed madness to launch infantry into 
that fire with nearly three quarters of a mile to 
go at midday under a July sun.” 


THE GRAND CONFEDERATE CHARGE. 451 


They went, though. It might be obedience unto 
death, but they obeyed. There were fields to be 
traversed, but this tide of war went on and flowed 
across them. There were fences to be met and 
left behind, and this wave swept through and 
over ‘them. Soon this billow lifting baj^onet 
and sword and flag to its haughty crest, changed 
its aspect seriously. The Union guns had made 
those proud ranks their mark — only flesh and 
blood, after all — and sent their hardest, fiercest 
shots and most violently bursting shell among 
them. There were Union batteries on Round Top 
that enfiladed those lines of flesh and blood, raking 
them with shot after shot. Sometimes a shell 
would knock down five or six men, even as a ball 
in a bowling alley sends to the floor pin after pin. 
The Union infantry were now pouring a shower 
of leaden death into those advancing ranks. These 
had faltered once, but it was only a pause that 
they might close up their beshotted ranks and then 
furiously press them forward in this last, reckless 
effort. In this, they burst with new energy upon 
their enemy, pouring over fences, crowding among 
the Union guns, firing, driving, charging. Pick- 
ett’s men were in a terrible melee. The Union 
troops swarmed all about them, and under a 
thickly enveloping cloud of smoke, the last scene 
in this tragedy was acted. 

The Confederates could not hold their ground 
under that war cloud. It was not only a repulse 


452 THE GRAND CONFEDERATE CHARGE. 

but a collapse. Everything was shattered. The 
wave that in pride had come over Seminary Ridge, 
had majestically moved down its slope, had swept 
in strength across the open country, had am- 
bitiously risen up and essayed to pour along and 
over the confronting death-slope, here met a* hard, 
stubborn rock of opposition. This threw the wave 
back, dashed it in pieces, and sent it off humbled, 
crippled, crawling, a shattered and a driven thing. 
The proud billow had crumbled into pitiful and 
helpless foam on the shores of Destiny. 

In about half an hour, over two thousand of 
Pickett’s brave fellows were killed and wounded. 
His two supporting divisions also met with a hard 
fate. They held together a while, then wavered 
and shook as if in a frightful palsy. Their 
ranks were shattered, and they fell hopelessly 
back. 

When the charge was over, the Confederates 
had as their share of the result only their own 
thinned and broken ranks, while out in the open 
fields were their dead, and these and the graves 
to receive them were in the enemy’s possession. 

When the stubborn infantry fight had weakened, 
the artillery fire slackened, and finally the guns 
ceased their monotonous and useless discharges. 

This ended the fight that third of July. The 
monster coils that had been folded about one 
another in that death-grapple, now loosened and 
fell away. Again, the fields of Gettysburg were 


THE GRAND CONFEDERATE CHARGE. 453 


silent. The night looked sadly down, and heard 
only the groans of the wounded. 

But where were Paul Endicott and Bill Potwin ? 
They had gone into the very thickest, hottest of 
the fight. 

44 He’s exposin’ himself more than he ought,” 
said Bill, fighting with Paul’s men and sharply 
watching the captain. 

It was during the battle that Bill saw something 
coming toward Paul ! Whether one man or sev- 
eral men, Bill could not say. It was something 
big, something awful, something coming, and 
coming toward Paul. How it towered up, frown- 
ing and irresistible ! 

“ It will kill the master,” said Bill. 

The next moment he was rushing forward, 
thinking of the boys and girls in the old school 
house, thinking of Sammy, thinking of Annie 
Alton, and shouting, “Hurrah for the flag and 
the boys and girls of Old Maine ! ’ throwing him- 
self between Paul and this threatening, on-rushing 
mass of Death. There came the shock of a collision, 
in which all things seemed to meet and shiver 
into atoms. Then Bill was swept away into 
unconsciousness. 

Paul had not realized his danger. He saw 
Bill hobbling up. He caught a glimpse of his old 
scholar’s face usually heavy and stolid. Now it was 
lighted up with a purpose in which the physical 
man was dominated and glorified by the spiritual. 


454 THE GRAND CONFEDERATE CHARGE. 

Bill’s face was brilliant as that of an archangel 
hurrying forward to confront some rushing dragon. 
The next moment, Paul was not seeing, but feel- 
ing. The collision that had prostrated Bill reached 
Paul and bore him down also. The force of the blow, 
though, was spent on Bill. Master and scholar 
lay on the battle field unconscious. They had not 
forgotten those in the far Northern land. 

A squad of soldiers led by an officer went out 
upon the slopes of Cemetery Hill toward twilight, 
searching for the dead and wounded. The ground 
was strewn with the silent witnesses to a terrible 
carnage with bayonet and gun or sword, and 
who could say where might be the hands that had 
grasped them? There were horses prostrate and 
without their riders. There were the soldiers who 
had fallen, white and stiff in death, or yet alive 
but helpless through their wounds. 

“ Look at that man ! ” said an under-officer, 
the chevrons on whose sleeve gave him the rank 
of an orderly-sergeant. “I — I think I know him.” 

He ran up to the wounded man who was leaning 
against a rock, his eyes closed, his face shadowed 
by death, and yet a smile was breaking through 
the shadows, and his lips moved. The wound 
could be seen in his breast and the blood crimsoned 
his worn, old blue coat. 

The orderly bent over the dying man. With a 
tender hand he stroked the fast chilling forehead. 
Then he tipped his canteen and held it to the sol- 


THE GRAND CONFEDERATE CHARGE. 455 


dier’s lips, but he did not open his mouth, and the 
water uselessly trickled down his chin. 

“ P oor Bill ! ” cried the orderly in compassionate, 
broken tones. “ Don’t you know me ? Don’t you 
remember Sylvester Dixon ? ” 

The orderly held his ear down to the dying 
man’s mouth and caught one feeble word — 
“ Sammy ! ” 

The face, on which a smile still lingered, grew 
more radiant. Then came the words low and 
broken : 

“ I have — kept — my — word — Sammy — I 
have a place for Him.” 

Bill was recalling his promise to keep a place for 
One at his wonderful coming. 

“ He thinks,” Sylvester told several comrades 
who had joined him, “it is a boy we used to know, 
his brother in fact. Can’t make out all he says, 
but we were brought up together in the same 
town. The boy is dead.” 

“ P’raps he thinks Sammy has come to go home 
with a poor chap,” remarked one of the soldiers. 
He was a rough-featured man, but his coat-sleeve 
slyly went up to his eyes. “ I’ve got a Sammy.” 

“ I’ll speak again,” said Sylvester. “ Bill, don’t 
you know me, Sylvester Dixon ? ” 

There was no returning recognition. Bill Pot- 
win’s thoughts were not there on that hard battle 
field. Soon his lips stirred again, and Sylvester 
bowed down to his mouth. 


456 THE GRAND CONFEDERATE CHARGE. 

“ Sam-my, I’m — coming ! ” That was all Syl- 
vester heard. 

Sylvester thrust his hand under Bill’s coat and 
pressed it against the soldier’s heart. There was a 
faint flutter as of a wing feeble and broken yet try- 
ing once more to rise. Then was all still. There 
was the smile clinging to the face, like the light 
loath to leave the western clouds when the sun 
has gone. 

“ That was a brave feller, Sergeant,” said a 
voice. Sylvester turned. 

A soldier, but not of Sylvester’s party, stood 
near him. 

“ Yes, he was ; did you know him ? ” asked 
Sylvester. 

“ No, Sergeant, but I saw him in the fight. He 
couldn’t find his regiment, you know — jest out of 
the hospittle and left behind, and when he had 
caught up he wanted to go in with us. When he 
got to us he did not seem to have any strength 
left, but when the fight came on he was jest 
a giant. Too bad ! A feller so promisin’. Well, 
I s’pose it was to be. He’d run his race and 
fought his fight, same as other folks.” 

“ Yes ; fought a good fight. He showed that 
he had the true man in him. Poor Bill ! ” 

“ From what I saw of him in the fight, I should 
say he had half a dozen heroes in him.” 

“Hullo, who is that?” Sylvester asked sud- 
denly. “ Another dead man? ” 


THE GRAND CONFEDERATE CHARGE. 457 


It was an officer lying flat on his back. He was 
insensible. 

“ I dunno,” said the strange soldier. “ I saw 
them two side by side. Fought like lions. Went 
in like twins together. I saw ’em more than 
once, side by side. Pitched in like twins. He — 
he’s a cap’n.” 

“Yes — and — and I know him.” Sylvester 
here left Bill and went to the second man. 

“You, you know him ? Guess you do ! What’s 
his name? ” 

“ I went to school to that man once. Poor fel- 
low ! There’s life in him, though. Poor fellow ! 
Too bad ! His name is Endicott.” 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


WOULD SHE GO? 


AR away “from the front,’’ as the soldiers 



JL' called the fighting-line, far down in Maine, 
in a home by a beautiful river that sang all day its 
song of peace, a gray-haired woman sat one after- 
noon reading a newspaper. Although July, it was 
a chilly day in that Northern climate, and the rain 
dripped dismally from the eaves, while the wind 
moaned through a clump of firs and brought 
sounds of the sea and thoughts of wrecks on pro- 
truding reefs or treacherous sandpits. A fire had 
been kindled on an open hearth and the woman 
held out her unoccupied hand and contentedly 
felt the warmth of the flames. As her hand 
moved forward and backward, grasping and letting 
go the heat, it seemed as if in connection with her 
reading, this swaying of the hand meant something 
else — a beckoning to someone far away, an urging 
and encouraging of some soldier at the front, for 
she was reading the news from the war. She was 


458 


WOULD SHE GO? 


459 


a famous Union woman, so called. They joked 
about it in town and would ask one another if 
“Aunt M’ri’ ” had enlisted yet. Aunt Maria 
could use her tongue in talking as well as her eyes 
in reading, and she had acquired a reputation for 
the prompt and efficient rebuke of all venomous 
war critics and obstructionists, called in those 
days “ Secessionists ” and “ Copperheads.” Titus 
Potwin was a big “Copperhead.” His sharp, 
aspish tongue was forever darting criticisms at 
the Government that protected him, and also apolo- 
gizing for the South that wanted to get away from 
him and everybody else in the Union. Aunt 
Maria and Simon Hanscom had many warm argu- 
ments with Titus. The latter was complaining 
one day in Aunt Maria’s presence. He bemoaned 
the fact that the war “ was a-draining the resources, 
of the country, and a-taking our choice men ” — 

“ And leaving the poor sticks at home ? ” asked 
Aunt Maria promptly. 

She was very much interested in the war meet- 
ings sometimes held in the village to arouse an in- 
terest in the forwarding of comforts to the sick, 
or in pushing the enlistment of soldiers for the 
army. Aunt Maria was sure to favor the pro- 
ject of holding these meetings, encouraged them 
by her presence, and when they were over, spoke 
many words of praise. Aunt Maria was something 
besides tongue and talk. She had a hand — two 
hands. She was continually picking lint for hos- 


460 


WOULD SHE GO? 


pital service or begging linen bandages or knitting 
stockings, or collecting comforts and sending off 
army boxes. She was now reading about the 
wounded at Gettysburg. 

“ O, dear, dear ! ” she suddenly exclaimed, and 
withdrawing that beckoning hand, she hastily left 
her seat. 

Again saying, “ O, dear, dear ! ” she opened a 
door leading into an adjoining room, used by her 
brother as a study, and called out: “ Rodney, here’s 
the paper, and it says a Captain Paul Endicott is 
among the wounded. Do you suppose that means 
our Mr. Endicott who used to teach here? ” 

“ You don’t say ! Let me see it, please.” 

Here Judge Alton planted a pair of spectacles 
on the ridge of his nose, took the paper, and read 
over the names of various wounded officers who 
had been carried to Washington hospitals after the 
Gettysburg fight. 

“ No doubt about it in my mind, Maria ! And I 
suppose you know that Bill Potwin was killed at 
Gettysburg ? I was at the post-office and they told 
me that somebody had written home about Bill.” 

“ What are we coming to, Rodney ! Yes, I did 
hear something about it. Who wrote home — did 
you find out ? ” 

“ I did not hear.” 

“ I will find out,” said Aunt Maria energetically. 

“ That Paul Endicott in the paper may possibly 
not be the teacher, Maria.” 


WOULD SHE GO? 


461 


“ I know it, but I am afraid ” — 

“ Yes, so am I.” 

“ I will hunt up about Bill.” 

The Alton chaise was out all the rest of the 
afternoon. Through the mud and amid the driving 
rain its wheels kept spinning round till Aunt 
Maria had hunted up the desired intelligence. 
She found out that Sylvester Dixon had written a 
letter home to his father and mother, saying that 
Bill had been killed and that Captain Paul Endi- 
cott had been dangerously wounded and sent to a 
Washington hospital. 

“ No doubt about it ! ” she sadly ejaculated, 
turning the head of her horse toward home. The 
wheels were allowed to move slowly now, and 
finally they stopped. 

“ Betty, get up there ! ” 

Betty was both intelligent and lazy. Urged by 
Aunt Maria, she had been pulling those wheels 
through the mud vigorously, but Betty wished to 
have no more of it. Besides she understood this 
one mood of her mistress, when busily following 
some train of thought, that she would let up on 
her energetic constraint of the reins and omit cer- 
tain sharp clutches with her hands, and certain 
impulsive clucks with her voice. The reins now 
hung loose. There was no urgent clucking in 
the old chaise-top. 

Betty knew the sign ; Aunt Maria was in a mood 
of busy, absorbing thought. Slower and slower 


462 


WOULD SHE GO? 


turned the wheels — slower — it was a heavy army 
wagon lumbering along — slower — it w T as a heaise 
in motion — slower — they stopped again. 

“ Get up there, Betty ! ” 

She started up but soon stopped again. Aunt 
Maria was so busily absorbed that Betty made 
quite a halt. 

“What? you stopping again? I believe you 
are in league with the Copperheads. Get up, 
Betty, get up, I tell ye ! ” 

This time Betty went to the stable door, for 
Aunt Maria coming out of her mood was both 
clucking and clutching, and Betty took the hint. 

From the stable door Aunt Maria went directly 
to her room and soon sat down to sink herself into 
a profounder mood than any in her carriage. As 
she sat, she held a drawer in her lap and took up 
some old letters. They w T ere not from Paul Endi- 
cott’s father, but from a friend who knew him and 
wrote about him to Maria Alton. As she read line 
after line of these letters, out of them seemed to 
rise a gently waving mist that first grew lumi- 
nous, and then the figures took shape and gathered 
about Aunt Maria. In the present mood she saw 
the past. She saw forms and faces. Paul Endi- 
cott’s father came before her. She saw his face, 
his eyes, his mouth, and she heard his voice. She 
heard him say to her friend — the words were in 
one of these letters — that he wished he had 
known Maria Alton better and he wished he could 


WOULD SHE GO? 


463 


meet her once more. He wrote that he had always 
had such a high opinion of her that it seemed to him 
if there had been fuller knowledge their mutual 
history might have been very different. This 
friend also said that Endicott assured him if in 
any way he could be of service to Maria Alton, it 
would be such a happiness to be that servant. At 
this time he was a widower with a single child, 
a boy. His married life had not been happy, and 
the friend writing the letter did not hesitate to 
wish that Endicott might have an opportunity to 
get another view and see another side of married 
life. What might be was only a speculation. 
Possibilities are generally dreams, and probabilities 
too often thin as sunrise mist. In less than a fort- 
night, Paul Endicott’s father had been swept out 
of this life by a fever. u If I can be of any service 
to Maria Alton,” the woman alone in her room 
heard him say and she saw him look at her tenderly. 

She sighed, lifted the drawer to its place in a 
little bureau, and closing the drawer softly, as if 
fearing that a rough movement would jar out of 
existence these golden dream-shapes before her, sat 
down to think of a matter not at all a dream ; not 
a what-might-have-been, but a what-had-better-be. 

“ If I can be of any service to Maria Alton, it 
will be such a happiness to be that servant.” 

The son of the man who said this was now lying 
in a Washington hospital dangerously wounded. 
Might she not be able to help this son? Would 


464 


WOULD SHE GO? 


she not in turn serve ? She had often spoken of 
sacrifices for the war. Was she making every 
sacrifice possible? She had been trying to bring 
into shape the opinion of the community, talking 
and arguing so that public sentiment at home might 
hold up the men at the bloody front. An officer 
at that front had been stricken down ; ought she 
not to strive to lift him up again ? 

She had been picking lint for hospital use ; might 
not this lint picker go to a hospital and do good 
service to the patients in general and Paul Endi- 
cott in particular? She did not at once get to 
these questions of such individual significance. 
She reached them finally, and when her brother 
came home at tea time, she startled him with these 
words : 

“ Rodney, you know about Paul Endicott, of 
course ? ” 

“ O, yes ! poor fellow, yes.” 

“ I am going to take care of him.” 

Judge Alton laid down his knife and fork, took 
out his spectacles, set them on his nose, and looked 
at her. Had Maria vanished and somebody else 
taken her place ? Was she one of those evanes- 
cent dream figures she herself had contemplated 
that very day ? 

“ Why, what is this ? ” he asked. “ Are you 
sane? You surprise me.” 

“ Sane ? Yes, indeed. See here ! ” 

Then she told him her plans — for she had 


WOULD SHE GO? 


465 


methodically made them — when to begin her jour- 
ney, where to go in Washington, how to hunt 
Paul up, how to get into hospital service, how to 
take care of him, and she added the hope that she 
might bring Paul through his sickness. 

“Maria,” replied Judge Alton soberly, looking 
at her intently, “ I have got more breath than I 
had at first. Then, you took it all awa}^. I — 
I — think you are right. I would go into the army 
myself if the surgeon had not examined me and 
rejected me. Now you have got ahead of me and 
are going yourself. Well, I think you are right. 
I would accompany you to Washington any way, 
but I am in the thick of July work and shall be 
for a few weeks, all our colored men having gone 
to the army to do any sort of work — they did not 
know what — and” — 

“ Rodney, don’t you worry about me. If it had 
only been last week, I might have gone with Frank 
Gaines to Washington when he left for the navy 
after his furlough. And the girls, Alice and 
Annie, might like the change of a Washington 
trip, but they are up in the country for a visit. 
Oh ! don’t you worry ; I shall get along.” 

The judge smiled. 

“ I have not the least doubt in the world but 
that you will get along finely. I am thinking ” — 

Here, quitting the table, he strode about the 
room, and as his sister was suddenly summoned 
into the kitchen, no one interrupted his soliloquy. 


466 


WOULD SHE GO? 


“ Ha, ha ! That woman will get to Washington 
and do something handsome, I doubt not. She 
has confidence, not an extravagant amount, but 
what is necessary in order to get along in this life. 
Singular, really ! You will find some people who 
have plenty of brains and abundance of resources 
and good opportunity — and opportunity in this 
life sometimes has more to do with our success 
than merit — and yet with brains and money and 
opportunity they do not succeed, because they 
never have any confidence in themselves or their 
cause. Another person comes along who is poorly 
stocked with brains, has few resources by way of 
money, and has not much of an opportunity, but 
he says, or she says — for woman does as much of 
the talking in this world as man — 4 1 can do some- 
thing,’ and off they spring, prompt, decided and 
sure to be heard from.” 

Here he staid his walk and stopped to look at a 
lawn which the summer had draped with its 
mantle of softest, most velvety green. 

“ Yes,” he continued, “Maria believes in herself, 
not extravagantly, but she is self-reliant and de- 
cided and prompt. She has confidence in her 
cause, too. She believes thoroughly in the objects 
of this war, and believes in helping everybody that 
has anything to do with it and that is having a hard 
time. It’s a good cause and she has confidence in 
it.” He was silent again, but not long. “And 
she has confidence in God.” 


WOULD SHE GO? 


467 


He uttered this last sentence in a reverent tone. 

“ She will succeed,” he added, “ but I shall miss 
the girl. ’Twill be lonely here — I — I sort of 
wish I were the soldier she was going to.” 

In twenty-four hours, the wheels of the family 
chaise were rolling rapidly and steadily toward the 
nearest railroad station, and there it deposited 
that choice bundle of humanity, Aunt Maria. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


IN THE HOSPITAL. 


AN shelters a dual nature. Two beings live 



-LV1_ under the same roof. One is the being 
always right, always skillful and wise, always 
thinking apt and beautiful things, always saying 
them and always doing them. The other is the 
unfortunate creature never doing the right thing 
at the right time, always trying to force the round 
stick into the square hole, sure to think something 
unlovely and then certain to say and do it with 
emphasis. This is the blunderer of the household, 
making his wise brother say, “ There ! I told 
you so ! ” 

This double record is plainly history. Let us 
hope that the history of our better self is also 
prophecy, a harbinger of the angel days when the 
manhood within will all the time be the strong, 
pure, sweet, wise, noble being that humanity 
sometimes is. 

Aunt Maria, one day, in the course of her hos- 


468 


IN THE HOSPITAL. 


469 


pital duties was puzzled. She did not know 
whether she were listening to the counsel of the 
always wise being or the ever blundering one, but 
a voice within said, “ You had better attend to 
some personal wants and let somebody else take 
care of Paul Endicott to-day.” 

Was it the always wise brother saying that, or 
the poor, foolish one so prone to make mistakes ? 
She looked at her patient, every day growing 
dearer and dearer, like a very son, and yet to her 
it seemed as if each day he were growing weaker 
and weaker. 

The surgeon in Paul’s ward declared : “ I am 
sorry to say it, Miss Alton, but we are not gaining 
on this trouble of Captain Endicott’s. Medicine 
does not reach him. The only possible thing 
that will help him is good nursing. That I know 
he will have. Bring to bear upon him your own 
strong, cheerful personality, if you will allow 
me to say it, and one will propping and pushing 
another will — for I think there is something in it 
— that may bring him through.” 

Five minutes after his departure, Aunt Maria 
wished she had asked if she might not leave Paul 
for two hours with one who had been her com- 
panion on her journey to Washington, a person not 
easily secured but obtained at last. She reasoned : 

“ Now I do not believe it will do any harm if I 
am gone just two hours to attend to some duties 
that can not well be deferred to a later date than 


470 


IN THE HOSPITAL. 


some time to-day. I will go at noon when I have 
a vacation of an hour any way, and my substitute 
will answer for the extra hour. I — I — hope it 
is not an unwise thing and a mistake.” 

Was it the prudent or the blundering being within 
Aunt Maria that had influenced her that day ? 
Would prudence have an opportunity to smile 
pityingly at unwisdom’s venture and say, “ I told 
you so ! I knew how it would be ! Yes, I told 
you so ! ” 

Aunt Maria had been absent an hour. All this 
time her substitute had been sitting patiently near 
Captain Paul Endicott’s bed. All this time, too, 
Paul had been sleeping. One of the attendants of 
the ward seeing his inclination to sleep had kindly 
placed a screen about his cot. ’Behind this seclud- 
ing wall, the watcher and the watched were left 
undisturbed. It almost seemed as if at first the 
extemporized attendant were afraid of the sleeping 
officer, though so weak and helpless and utterly 
unable to harm any one. Only hasty glances had 
been stolen at him. Any trespassing fly had been 
driven timidly away. 

But finally the fascination of that still, restful 
face was the stronger influence. The chair of the 
watcher came from the foot of the cot half-way 
up its side. This advance was justified to the sub- 
stitute’s conscience by the consideration that the 
flies might be unpardonably troublesome. Then 
the chair went farther up the side of the cot, 


IN THE HOSPITAL. 


471 


though not a fly was within three feet of the 
patient’s face. 

Still fearful and yet* still fascinated, after a 
while the chair of the new nurse was opposite 
the pillow of the patient. There was a timorous, 
dainty touching of the sheet to smooth out its 
wrinkles, and then the pillow was gently patted. 
Somehow, it seemed impossible for the watcher to 
stop that protracted scrutiny of the placid face 
and closed eyes of the officer. Bending over him, 
the pitying eyes all dewy, soft and hushed was 
this murmuring, having something of the sweet 
music of the river-flow under the old bridge in 
the far-off Maine village. 

“ You will not hear me. You are asleep. You 
may never awake.” 

There was a pause, for the pitying eyes were 
full of tears. 

“Poor fellow! Just as noble and self-sacrificing 
as you can be ! And just the same generous soul 
as you were in the little schoolhouse by the river ; 
just as true and upright and good — and I love 
you.” 

One of Paul’s hands chanced to be lying outside 
the counterpane, and saying the word “ love,” the 
speaker ventured to touch that hand, timidly 
though at first, then more confidently. The musio 
under the bridge went on. 

“ I loved you the first time I saw you, when you 
looked down and asked my name, and I thought 


472 


IN THE HOSPITAL. 


you seemed rather confused. I could not help 
loving you. You thought me a teasing girl that 
winter, and there I was just about worshiping you. 
And when you went back to college, I felt as if 
all life had gone from me and death had come into 
my heart (what a poor, thin, wasted hand this is, 
and it may never stir again).” 

A longer pause now. At last the sound like 
the musical river-flow went on. 

“ I have been loving you ever since, and I love 
you now with all my heart, and while you are 
asleep, while you do not hear me, I am telling you 
that I love you, love you, love ” — 

Suddenly Paul’s eyes opened. How big they 
looked and how lustrous, an ineffable light shining 
out of them ; and he said, in a low but audible 
tone : “ Annie, I hear you, and love you, darling, 
with all my heart. I am going to get well.” 

Here the hand under the coverlid stole out and 
conspired with the other hand to take and hold 
hers that now would have been fugitive. The 
conspiracy was successful. 

“Oh! you must not exert yourself, dear,” she 
whispered, yet yielding her hand, so pretty and 
such a hand of health and strength. “ Oh ! — I — 
shall kill my — my — patient.” 

He only smiled, and shaking his head, still 
holding her hand, he closed his eyes and had a 
delightful dream of poor Hercules bewildered in 
the dark and in a driving snowstorm, and it was 


IN THE HOSPITAL. 


473 


Alcestis who laid her firm yet gentle, loving hand 
upon him and brought him to a house of shelter 
and warmth and light. 

And Aunt Maria ? 

Did she ever feel that she had done a foolish 
thing in leaving the former schoolmaster, when a 
very sick hospital patient, in the care of an old 
scholar ? Never. 

And Paul got well ? Of course. 


* 







Illustrated Stories for Young 
Folks. 


Young Folks’ Cyclopedia of Stories. Quarto* 

doth, 3.00. 

Contains in one large book the following stories with many illus- 
trations: Five Little Peppers, Two Young Homesteaders, Royal 
Lowrie’s Last Year at St. Olaves, The Dogberry Bunch, Young 
Rick, Nan the New-Fashioned Girl, Good-for-Nothing Polly and 
The Cooking Club of Tu-Whit Hollow. 


What the Seven Did ; or, the Doings of the Wordsworth 
Club. By Margaret Sidney. Quarto, boards, 1.75. 

The Seven are little girl neighbors who meet once a week at 
their several homes. They helped others and improved them- 
selves. 


Me and My Dolls. By L. T. Meade. Quarto, 50 cts, 
A family history. Some of the dolls have had queer adventures, 
Twelve full-page illustrations by Margaret Johnson. 


Little Wanderers in Bo-Peep’s World. Quarto, 

boards, double lithograph covers, 50 cts. 


Polly and the Children. By Margaret Sidney. Boards 

quarto, 50 cts. 

The story of a funny parrot and two changing children. The 
parrot has surprising adventures at the children’s party and wear* 
a medal after the fire. 


Five Little Peppers. By Margaret Sidney. i2mo, 1.50. 

Story of five little children of a fond, faithful and capable 
** mamsie.” Full of young life and family talk. 

Seal Series. IO vols., boards, double lithographed covers, 
quarto. 

Rocky Fork, Old Caravan Days, The Dogberry Bunch, by 
Mary H. Catherwood; The Story of Honor Bright and Royal 
Lowrie’s Last Year at St. Olaves, by Charles R. Talbot; Their 
Club and Ours, by John Preston True ; From the Hudson to the 
Neva, by David Ker; The Silver City, by Fred A. Ober; Two 
Young Homesteaders, by Theodora Jenness; The Cooking Club 
©f Tu-whit Hollow, by Ella F arman. 


Cats’ Arabian Nights. By Abby Morton Diax. Quarto, 
eloth, 1.75 ; boards, 1.25. 

The wonderful cat story of cat stories told by Pussyanlta Hurt 
Afeved the lives of all the cats. 


Young Folks’ Illustrated 
Quartos. 

jde Awake Volume Z. Quarto, boards, 1 . 75 . 

Ga d literature and art have been put into this volume. Henry 
13 aco\ ’s paper about Rosa Bonheur, the great painter of horses 
and 1 ; ?ns, and Steffeck’s painung of Queen Louise with Kaiser 
Willi* in would do credit to any Art publication. 


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As a distinctive feature it devotes considerable space to Honra 
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Good Cheer for Boys and Girls. 

Short stories, sketches, poems, bits of history, biography and 
natural history. 


Our Little Men and Women for 1888. Quarto, 

boards, 1.50. 

No boys and girls who have this book can be ignorant beyond 
their years of history, natural history, foreign sight* or the good 
times of other boys and girls. 


Babyland for 1888. Quarto, boards, 75 cts. 

Finger-plays, cricket stories, Tales told by a Cat and scores of 
jingles and pictures. Large print and easy words. Colored 
frontispiece. 


King’s and Queens at Home. By Frances A. Hum- 
phrey. Quarto, boards, 50 cts. 

Short-story accounts of living royal personages. 


Queen Victoria at Home. By Frances A. Humphrey. 

Quarto, boards, 50 cts. 

Pen picture of a noble woman It will aid in educating the 
heart £>y presenting the domestic side of the queen’s character. 


Stories about Favorite Authors. By Frances A. 

Humphrey. Quarto, boards, 50 cts. 

Little literature lessons for little boys and girls. 


Child Lore. Edited by Clara Doty Bates. Quarto, doth, 
tinted edges, 2.25; boards, 1.50. 

More than 50,000 copies sold. The most successful quarto for 
children. 




* 






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